


The Seer's Weaving - Book Two

by Carmen_Willow



Category: Dragon Age 2, Dragon Age Awakenngs, Dragon Age Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 111,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmen_Willow/pseuds/Carmen_Willow
Summary: Brought together by Fate, Duty tears Nathaniel Howe and Angharad apart. Nathaniel is posted to the Warden base in the Free Marches while Angharad is sent to King Alistair's and Queen Anora's court to study with the official Court Healer.While traveling to Denerim, Angharad and Nona are reunited, and Nona comes with Angharad as her unofficial assistant.When at last Nathaniel and Anghard see one another, they experience an event that could tear them apart forever.





	1. Letters

Book Two

# Chapter One-Letters

**Letters**

(A letter from Etienne Caron to Giselle du Lac sent to Val Royeaux by special courier)

_My dearest heart:_

_It gives me great joy to know that you have been able to secure passage to Weisshaupt.  The First Warden has assured me that I shall be recalled within the month and will be free to join you at last. It was a curious agony to watch my friend Nathaniel and his petite ami, Angharad together.  It brought back so many memories of our early days. I long for you, my heart. I cannot wait to hold you once again._

_I have forwarded 50 sovereigns to be held in your name at the fortress. You need not worry to be without funds until I arrive. Take care. I shall see you soon._

_All my love,_

_Etienne_

(A letter from Angharad Whittall to Nona Gaudet sent with a caravan driver to the Wending Wood)

_My dear friend,_

_Nathaniel has been ordered to another command across the Waking Sea. I must be strong and not burden him, but Nona, I do not know how I shall survive. I love him so much. I have been ordered to Denerim to study with the Court Healer before returning to the Vigil. Nathaniel’s sister has been kind enough to allow me to stay in her home while my wardrobe is being assembled. Her company and the task itself keeps me from despair during the day, but at night I am overwhelmed with grief for Nathaniel’s absence. I wish—never mind what I wish. How are things with you my friend? Please send word to me at the Royal Palace in Denerim so that I know how you fare._

_Your friend,_

_Angharad_

(A letter from Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever to Angharad Whittall sent by regular courier to the Palace in Denerim)

 

_Angharad:_

_I write to thank you for the service you rendered to me during my last visit to the Vigil. Your words were very helpful. You gave me cause to see the situation in another light, and for this I am grateful. As a token of my thanks, please accept the five sovereigns enclosed to help with your journey. You must plan to call on me when I next come to Court._

_Fergus Cousland, Teyrn, Highever_

 

  * \--§



How do you count the cost to your soul after you are parted from a loved one? Do you count the tears shed or the days that seemed an eternity? Do you count each time you turn to say something to him only to remember that he is no longer there? Do you count the ache in your middle that makes it hard to breathe or the twist in your stomach that keeps you from eating?  Do you count the moments of fear that you will never see him again? Angharad asked these questions of herself and the Maker, but there was no answer. There was only the pain. There were only those moments when all seemed well to be followed by a flood of tears that could not be stopped. 

In the days that followed Nathaniel’s departure, Angharad struggled to move forward despite the sadness she felt. With Delilah’s help she was able to put together a decent court wardrobe. Heeding the Warden Commander’s words and Delilah’s, she chose fine woolens for her winter under-tunics and linens for summer. The women made three gowns, beautiful tunics that fit close to the body until the hip and then flared into a fuller skirt. Their understanding was that this new fitted gown was all the rage in Orlais. Never having actually seen the Orelesian gowns, the design was not yet common in Ferelden, but the style suited her perfectly. Angharad agreed to the gowns themselves but balked at the gigantic collars and hats and the wired underskirt that helped the dress maintain a perfect circle. Thus, Angharad’s gowns fell softly from her hip line to the floor. Two gowns were made of merino wool: one in a blue-green; and another in a deep purple. The final one was made out of a coral silk. It was very expensive, but it was also quite beautiful and Delilah insisted over Angharad’s protests and ordered the seamstresses to refurbish Angharad’s purple silk dress as the fabric was still good. To these were added a fur lined woolen cloak in dark gray, an unlined woolen cloak in brown and soft leather gloves and slippers. With extra coin, they were even able to get a pair of good boots made before her departure. A leather trunk that the cobbler had constructed for a noble who hadn’t cared for the color was their final purchase. Delilah haggled a good discount on its cost which pleased Delilah no end.

The morning Angharad was to leave, Delilah and Liam walked with her to the departure point. “Now, you have your letter of introduction from the Arl?” Delilah asked her. “And the command sent by their royal majesties for you to come to court?”

When Angharad nodded, she went on. “When you arrive at the palace present your papers to the major domo at the door. He will send a boy to carry your things to whatever apartment you have been assigned. Give the lad some coin, and he will be gentle with your baskets and trunk. If the King and Queen are in residence, you may be taken immediately to be introduced, but this is not certain, so do not worry if it does not happen. If they are on progress, you will probably be introduced to your master.” Delilah recounted, going over some of the court protocol. Then she smiled and hugged Angharad tightly. “Be well, Angharad and try not to fret.  We are all in the Maker’s hands.” 

Liam also embraced Angharad, for he was thrilled when she was able to tell him stories of Nathaniel’s exploits. As she hugged the lad, she had the merest of flashes.

Angharad said goodbye to him and then turned back to Delilah and said, hesitantly for she did not wish to offend her friend, “Liam doesn’t want to sell wool, Delilah. He longs for his birthright. The blood of your ancestors courses through him like a river, and he hero worships his uncle. He will only be happy as the warrior he was born to be.”

Delilah hesitated only a moment before she nodded and whispered, “I know. I just dreamed of a quiet life for him.”

“A quiet life is every mother’s dream for her child. But try not to fear; Liam has a long life ahead,” Angharad said. Then in a lighter tone, she added. “Be well, my friend, thank you for saving me all those years ago. And thank you for these last few days.”  She climbed up in the wagon beside the caravan driver.

“Maker turn his gaze on you!” Delilah called out.

“Maker watch over us all!” Angharad responded, blowing Liam a kiss.

  * \--§



The caravan reached the edge of the Wending Wood without incident two days after their departure from Amaranthine. The caravan would not travel up the mountainside to the miner’s camp, but word was sent of the caravan’s arrival in case they had anything to trade or messages to be posted. A few hours later, as Angharad was helping to set up camp for the evening, people from the quarry and mine appeared.

To her surprise, one of them was Nona who came walking up to her with a basket in hand. Angharad squealed in delight and went to embrace her friend. “Nona c'est un plaisir de vous voir de nouveau.”

“Je suis très heureux ains,” Nona replied, happily, “Donnez-moi un instant.”  Nona left Angharad’s side and went to converse with the caravan leader. They were obviously haggling back and forth. Finally, Nona gave him some coin. She came back and put her basket in the cart.  “There. It is done.”

“What is done?” Angharad asked her.

“Why, I am going to Denerim, what else?” Nona answered with glee. “I grow tired of this country air and desire the atmosphere of wet dog and fish. I also desire the company of my friend on the journey. Now, what can I do to help?” 

Angharad and Nona finished setting up their portion of the campsite and started helping with the meal preparation. As they did this, Nona shared news of the camp. Some of the women she knew had moved on to other places, some new women had arrived. And some of the men were sending for their wives and sweethearts. The site was growing in size and permanence.  

“So tell me more about Nathaniel,” Nona said later as they were eating their meal.

“What is there to tell?” Angharad asked.

“Did he live up to your expectations?” Nona asked her. “Did his skill with archery carry over into your bed?”

Angharad looked at the ground as she blushed. The color spread even into the roots of her hair, but she also smiled and finally nodded. “Nathaniel is a master in more than just archery,” She admitted.

Nona laughed. “He struck me as a man who strove for excellence in everything he attempted.” Then she grew serious. “So his superior sends him away from you. Do you think he will find someone else?”

“No. I fear that his first mistress will claim him completely,” Angharad replied. “The Grey Wardens are his first love.”

“Hélas oui! A man’s true calling is always his first love. But it does not have to end your relationship. He cannot make love to his profession,” Nona retorted merrily. Then she grew more serious. “Angharad.  He loves you.  Hold onto that.” She rose. “Now let us clean this mess and retire. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

All went well on the journey to Denerim until the last night in camp. Angharad knew one of the soldiers, Dywdd, sent to guard the caravan, but the other one was new to her. As they sat near the fire the last night the soldier she did not know began to harass Nona.

“Hey, Hey you. Orlais! Come here!” He began. “Come here and get some of this.”  He said making a rude gesture. Come on gel, I have coin, I want to see what you Orlesian whores can do to a man.” The soldier continued, walking over to where they were sitting.

“Leave me alone,” Nona told him firmly, “I am not for sale this night.”

 He started grabbing at Nona’s arm. “Whores are always for sale,” He stated. The man managed to catch her arm and pull her up, but she pushed him away so hard he stumbled and fell. “You will pay for that,” He said as he started to rise.

Angharad stood up. “I will warn you once, leave my friend alone.”

“Leave her alone, Jack, don’t be an ass!” Dywdd told him, rising to come and drag the idiot away.

“No woman tells me what to do.” Jack grabbed Angharad’s arm.

The knowing was strong, instantaneous, and heartbreaking. Anghard looked Jack in the eye. “ _No woman tells me what to do.”_ Your father said those words as he beat your mother and broke her arm. He beat her because she begged him not to hit you again. She begged him not to hit you for playing with his tools and damaging his chisel.” Angharad ‘s eyes glowed and she stared at Jack but what she saw was his past. “It was not the first time he’d had hit her. The last time your mother stood between you and your father, he beat her to death, and the Arl sent your father to the mines. It terrified you to think that he was your father, that you could ever be like him. But over time you forgot how to be gentle. You forgot your mother and that you had her eyes and that you had her gift for laughter. You found the path of violence an easy one, and so you practiced violence until you knew nothing else.”

Jack still had hold of Angharad’s arm. He tried to let go, but Angharad grabbed his hand and held on. “You wanted to be gentle with her, that pretty girl in Farcross, but when you quarreled, it was your father’s way that felt right to you. So, frightened that you would hurt her, you went away. You think of her, and my friend has her look. But your fear turns to anger and to bullying.” Angharad came back to the present, looked at Jack and smiled. “Your father gave you other things, Jack. His way with stone and his ability to see a building, a house, a castle before it even comes in to being. He was a great stonemason, and he taught you well. When he worked the stone, he was a different man, as are you. That is the hunger you should feed. You can stop you know. And then you would not be afraid to find a wife.”

Jack started to raise his hand. Angharad simply stood there. Then he dropped his hand and stared at the ground.

“You kept his tools. He gave then to you, didn’t he, before they took him away. You should use them and put your sword away. If you want a wife and a life without loneliness you must go another way, follow the other father inside you. Volrik. You should show Volrik what you can do with those tools. He would ask for you then, and the Commander would release you from your term of service as a man-at-arms to work on the Keep. The Commander believes in building.”

Jack said nothing to Angharad. She let go his arm and he slowly walked backward until he was out of her reach. He looked at Nona, and said, “Please forgive me. I was rude.” Then he turned and walked away.

Angharad casually stepped into the shadows beyond the light of the campfire and cast up every bit of food in her stomach. She remained there until the shaking stopped.  Nona saw her move away but said nothing. Instead she merely wet down a cloth and silently handed it to Angharad when she returned to the fire.

“What did you do to him, Angharad? How did you know those things?” None said after a time.

“I do not know. It is a curse with which I must live.” Angharad replied, wiping her mouth.

“But you defended _me_ , Angharad. Thank you.” Nona said quietly.

“I meant to wave my knife in his face, but Fate had other plans.”

“Well then, ma chérie, I thank both Fate and you.” Nona replied. “No go and sleep.”

 

  * \--§



The next day as they neared Denerim, Angharad said to Nona, “Truly, Nona, what are you going to do in Denerim?” 

Nona shook her head. “I do not know. I have some coin put by, and perhaps it is enough to start something new,” Nona said. “I grow weary of the life I need permanence, something that will last, that I can trust.”

On impulse, Angharad said, “Then come with me. Come to the palace with me.” 

Nona laughed. “Have you lost your mind? Angharad, what would I do at the palace? Why would they even let me in?”

Angharad thought. “You would be my assistant. Surely people bring their assistants to court. Why not me? “She frowned in concentration. “You know the amount of business I was able to do in the camp selling good quality medicines and potions. I have no idea how much time I must spend as the healer’s apprentice, but I could share with you, and we could continue to sell medications and ointments. Neither of us can afford to be without a source of income, and this would provide it for both of us.  And you would be a friendly face in a sea of strangers.” Angharad said.

“Apprentice to the apprentice?” Nona teased. “Why not? 

“And friend. Please don’t forget that.”

“Mais oui.”

Angharad had paid the driver extra coin to deliver them to the palace in Denerim. So, in the late afternoon hours, they were deposited at the side entrance reserved for servants.  Angharad presented her papers to the guards at the door who sent for someone who could read.  

The woman who came to examine the documents said, “What are you doing here at this entrance. You should have gone ‘round to the front.” As she glanced up from the documents. Before Angharad could answer, she added, “Oh well, never mind. Come in. Let me find someone to help with your things.” 

Angharad and Nona stepped into the vestibule that led to the kitchens. There were servants working at tables preparing heaps of food for the evening meal. Many of the servants were elves, though not all. Most seemed busy with various tasks. Nevertheless, the woman saw a young elf hurrying by so she grabbed him by his shirt, “You, there!  See to this luggage.” The young man was about to protest when the woman added, “One word, and you’ll wish you’d kept your mouth shut.” With that, the young man took up as much of the luggage as he could manage. There were two pieces left. Angharad and Nona each took one of the remaining pieces.

The woman’s eyebrows went up a little, but she said nothing as she led them through the maze of back hallways and up two flights of narrow stairs. Near the end of the hallway, there was a small door with a hidden lock. The woman pressed it and the door opened. She led the way through. They now stood in a grand corridor that displayed tapestries, shields and other regalia.

“This way,” the woman said leading them to a suite of rooms. Clearly the rooms were meant for visiting nobility, for there were three of them connected to one another with one containing a large bed, a second with an area in which to sit and relax, and a third that had two long tables, shelves above and racks overhead.

“There must be some mistake. I am only an apprentice.”

The woman gave Angharad a disparaging look. “No mistake. Rywik told us to house you close by so that he didn’t have to chase you down at odd hours. He also insisted you have a workroom. So here you are.” The woman headed for the door. “I’ll let someone know you are here. In case no one comes, supper begins at the nineteenth hour.” And she was gone before Angharad could say thank you. 

Angharad gave the young man carried her things a sovereign. He looked rather strange when she placed it in his hand, but merely said, “Thank you, messer.”

“No, Thank you,” Angharad replied. When the door shut, Angharad grinned at Nona. “Oh Maker!  Have you ever seen such quarters?” 

“Not for some time,” Nona replied, but did not elaborate.

When they toured the rooms and returned to the bedroom space, Angharad noticed a small door. She opened the door and inside there was a tub much like the one in the room at the inn. “Oh Maker!” Angharad repeated happily. Nona laughed and the two of them began putting away their things.

Angharad spent most of her time arranging her equipment in the workroom. It took some time, but she finally sorted everything out to her satisfaction.

“Is the room to your liking?”

Startled, Angharad looked up to find an elven male studying her from the doorway. He was, perhaps five feet seven or eight, with ink black hair cut short enough that one could see the points of his ears quite clearly, He  had very green eyes made more green by the dark tattoos that surrounded them. _Those had to hurt!_ She thought to herself and was rather shaken when he responded. “Indeed. They hurt like hell-all, but it was part of my right of passage so to speak, so I couldn’t back down.”

“You are not Dalish?” Angharad hesitated when she said this for his tattoos were unlike any she had seen among with wandering elves, and his accent told her he was raised in the city. He wore a Tevinter robe and carried a staff that shimmered with power.

“No way to know, really. I was thrown into the Circle at about age three. Can’t say I remember much about my life before that,” he replied. “As I said, the tattoos were a moment of adolescent rebellion more or less. I researched the history of Dalish tattoos, made some blood ink, and convinced one of my fellow mages who was also a bit of an artist that my face would be the perfect canvas.” He walked into the work room and began to look at her things. “Can’t say that the First Enchanter was very pleased with me. I had to clean latrines for a month without using magic.” He looked directly into Angharad’s eyes. “Anders was certainly happy. He’d had latrine duty prior to my misbehavior.”

“You know him?” Angharad asked, coming closer.

“Rather tall fellow, good looking in that blonde-haired, human sort of way, sarcastic wit and an abiding hatred of the Circle and Templars. Chased the skirts no matter who was wearing them as I recall. That the one?” He asked coming closer still.

Angharad could only nod.

Then he put out his hand to her. “Give me your hand Angharad.”

Angharad started to place her right hand in his. “The left hand, Angharad. The one with the mark.” She put her left hand into his hands. She tensed, expecting to be flooded with his thoughts and feelings, but there was—silence. “Now look at me, gel,” he commanded quietly. Their eyes met across an arm’s length of space. Angharad could swear that his eyes changed somehow. 

She had the strange feeling of power flowing from her to him, but before she could be afraid, he closed his eyes and let loose her hand, turning away slightly.

“You saw and felt nothing of me, Angharad, because I was blocking you. I will train you so that you can prevent others from reading you, and prevent yourself from reading others when you do not wish to do so. I will also teach you what I know about herbs and medicines.  In return, you will be a good student, do as I say, run a few errands, fetch a few things.”  He faced her once more and smiled He seemed younger than she was when he smiled. “Sound like a fair bargain?”

“Fair bargain or no, I am here to learn,” Angharad said to him. “I promised the Warden Commander that I would be your apprentice and work to master the Sight.”

“Even though being anywhere near a mage scares the demon out of you. Now, I wonder why that is? Oh well, a question for another time. Now to business. The King and Queen are at Redcliffe for the moment, pretending to be friends with the Arl. When they are not in residence, I eat in the kitchens where I don’t have to put up with the politicking and boot-licking from the nobles hanging about, although why they bother with me, I don’t know. Alistair doesn’t listen to me much these days, and Anora hasn’t been the same since I executed her father,” Rywick said.

“Oh Maker!” Angharad whispered.

Rywick smiled. “See, I knew you’d recall the name sooner or later, once you’d gotten over the mage thing. Rywick Surana, Elf, Mage, Apostate, Warden, and Hero of Ferelden. Well?” He asked when she failed to speak.

“I thought you’d be taller,” Angharad replied haltingly.

“Well, I _am_ taller when I wear my boots.” He said arching an eyebrow. “But not by much. Come gel, back to business. Do you want to eat with the servants or the nobles?” He asked.

“Servants,” Angharad replied.

“Right. Then there’s no sense in going down to eat until the twentieth hour. The piggies in the main hall won’t be done before then. Bring your pretty assistant. And don’t bother with the new gowns. You won’t need them in the kitchen.” Rywik walked out the door.

When he’d gone, Nona appeared from the other room. “That is the Hero of Ferelden. Incroyable!  And such a wit. Did you know he was to be your teacher, Angharad?”

“No, I didn’t _see_ that. Not at all.”

  * \--§



Angharad and Nona went down to the servants’ hall for supper precisely at the twentieth hour.

The servants’ hall of the palace was larger than the Great Hall at the Vigil. Long tables were set up in row after row in the middle of the room, while the food was set out on narrow tables lining the walls. Everyone in the room went round the walls to collect their food and drink and then found a place at the tables. It was immediately clear to Angharad that each group had their own little area. 

The castle guard seemed clustered near a door that obviously led to their quarters, while most of the elves sat in the corner as far away from the humans as they could manage. The serving staff grouped around the kitchen doors. Angharad couldn’t make out the tables for the stable hands, but she would in time. As her mentor had not yet arrived, Angharad was at a loss.  She knew that first impressions were often critical, and she did not wish to violate castle custom.  About to choose someone with a friendly face to ask, Rywik came through the door and started gathering food. Angharad and Nona fell in behind him, took up bowls and began to choose something to eat from the large pots. 

When they had done so, they looked around to find that Rywik had already taken a place at a table in the middle of the room. Strangely, those who had been sitting there moments before were gone, leaving an entire table free. Angharad and Nona looked at one another without speaking, and then went to sit across from him. They all ate in silence for a few moments before Angharad gathered enough courage to ask, “Do they always flee from you?”

Rywik looked up from his soup bowl as he continued to eat, “Always. Elves are contemptible and mages are feared. I am everyone’s worst nightmare. Those that abuse my kind are well aware that I have the power to blast them to the void. That doesn’t make them like me any better. It just makes them get out of my way. Now shut up and eat.”

“How lonely,” Angharad said, and then stopped when his eyes met hers once more. She saw the warning there. 

Nona began making off-color remarks about some of the guards just loudly enough for Angharad to hear. In moments she had Angharad biting back laughter and totally unable to eat. It was stupid, but it broke the tension. Like girls in a chantry school, they poked one another and giggled their way through the rest of the meal.

“It would be nice if we could leave this hall before midnight,” Rywik said as he rose to his feet. Angharad and Nona picked up their extra bread and followed him out of the hall.

In the corridor outside their room, Rywik pointed at the door opposite. “Be there tomorrow immediately after your break your fast. You can find bread and cheese in the servants’ hall at dawn.” Before they could thank him, he was gone.

(Letter from Angharad Wittall to Nathaniel Howe, taken by regular courier to the Grey warden outpost in the Free Marches)

_Anwylaf,_

_I have arrived safely in Denerim and will begin my training in the morning. Little did I know until I arrived that the “King’s Healer” is a certain Grey Warden. One would expect to meet a paragon of might and virtue, given the tale, but instead he is a lonely and profoundly sad elf, cynical and yet—I suspect that being unhappy is one of the requirements for induction into the Grey Wardens._

_The King and Queen are in Redcliffe and shall not return for some time. I have yet to meet them. The rooms assigned to me are a palace in themselves, Nathaniel.  I could fit my old workroom in this space five times over. Another bit of news; Nona from the Wending Wood is here with me. She was traveling to Denerim, and I convinced her to come to court as my assistant. No one here seems to notice or care that I came with an entourage._

_Nathaniel, my love, I miss you so.  I don’t wish to burden you, but I do want you to know that you are in my heart and my thoughts. I have only one question, anam cara.  When will I hold you again?_

_Always,_

_Angharad_

 


	2. Free Marches

# Chapter Two-Book Two

**Free Marches**

Nathaniel discovered that the Grey Warden command in the Free Marches was vastly different from his old unit in Ferelden. Very formal, the Free Marches unit had uniforms, protocol, and daily muster. He was assigned to an eight-man squad being led by an older man with graying hair named Georg and was handed a blue and silver uniform immediately on arrival. The tunic was too big, though the armor itself seemed right. Nathaniel found a seamstress at the outpost who, for a bit of coin, took in the tunic while he waited.  If Georg had hoped to initiate Nathaniel into the unit by ragging on the fit of his outer wear, he did not get the chance. 

Stroud’s command was configured as a regular army unit, rather than as a ranger squad. Nathaniel understood that. Stroud had more Grey Wardens to work with while Caron had been forced to turn the Arling’s guard into the main infantry unit of the command because he had so few Grey Wardens available. Nathaniel adjusted easily to the military structure. He had served many years in a similar unit while a squire. Adjusting to the structure did not mean he had to like it. He was best working ahead of the army, scouting, sniping and harrying the enemy from stealth. It wasn’t his style, and he wasn’t thrilled with the uniform either, but he knew better than to grouse.

Experience told him to keep his mouth shut unless he was questioned or specifically asked to speak. His father had begun his training early in life and had trained him well. His lord in the Free Marches had put the finishing touches on the training Rendon Howe had begun. That he was lonely didn’t matter. He’d been lonely before. It came with being a soldier, particularly with being a Grey Warden. Do what’s expected of you and don’t expect sympathy. Feelings did not matter. Performance did. He concentrated on that.

At first, he was left to himself in the mess hall.  After about a week, the others from his squad put out feelers. It began when one of them, a tall blonde man who seemed to be from one of the southern tribes of the Chasind sat across from him at table one morning. “Good morrow.  Name’s Torag.” He said as he took a bite of his bread.

“Nathaniel.” Nathaniel put a slice of his cheese on top of his own bread.

“How long have you worn the Grey, Nate?” Torag inquired.

“Less than three years.” 

“You were regular army before?”

“Ayah,”

“Ayah.”  Torag took a swig of his ale to wash his bread down. “See you then, Nate.”

Nathaniel nodded. The next day as he approached the tables, he was waved over to where Torag and the others were eating. He joined them at the table and took a seat. It was a beginning.

 The unit to which Nathaniel had been assigned fought with sword and shield. Nathaniel was more than capable of wielding a sword in combat, but it was not his preferred weapon. When they were given free time in the practice yard, Nathaniel worked with his daggers and his bow keeping his skills sharp. A couple of the men were interested enough in the fighting style to spar with Nathaniel, and in return, he began teaching them the basics of what he knew.

Nathaniel’s method of fighting was based on an economy of movement. The idea was to get in close and deliver as many cuts and stabs as possible in the first attack so that the need for a second attack was unlikely. Trained as an assassin, Nathaniel’s primary objective was to prevent the enemy from sounding an alarm. The easiest way to do this was to go for the larynx, carotid and jugular. One had to be swift and balanced to execute the moves, but when done correctly, it was extremely effective. 

When the primary target was not a possibility, Nathaniel’s second objective was to puncture one of the lungs and the heart. This was simpler if it could be done from the front, but not impossible from the rear. Finally, faced with a skilled opponent who could defend against the first two tactics, the object became that of disarming the enemy while at the same time delivering as many stab wounds and lacerations as possible in the hope that blood loss would weaken the enemy before he or she could do the same to him. Because this style depended on speed, Nathaniel preferred shorter knives or daggers to swords, but he’d killed effectively with just about any edged weapon. 

His first love, however, was his bow. There was something about the feel of exhaling as you released the arrow and the soft _thunk_ of a solid strike that thrilled him like nothing else. Nathaniel often took archery practice just to relax. When he drew his bow and knocked an arrow, for the brief second it took to aim, draw and release, the only things that existed were the weapon, the missile, and the target.  Whenever the sergeant asked for volunteers to hunt game, Nathaniel was the first to offer. Six weeks or so later, as his unit came in from a patrol, he was called to the Commander’s office.

Commander Stroud was a man who looked to be in his mid to late thirties with black hair and a thick black mustache of which he seemed proud. Nathaniel had not been in the field with his Commander to date, but knew from the talk among the other wardens that he was well respected by the troops. He came into the office and saluted, then stood at attention. “Commander, Warden Nathaniel Howe reporting as ordered.”

“At ease, Warden,” Stroud said.

Nathaniel stood at rest.

“I have been observing you, Warden, because I am not certain how best to employ you,” Stroud began. “We’ve done well enough with things as they are, but I am not one to simply stand still with tradition.” He glanced down at the documents on his desk. “Caron used you in the field as a cross between a scouting unit and a guerilla force. He wrote that you and your men were quite effective in numerous battles.”

Nathaniel said, “I am happy that my former Commander found my performance to be adequate, sir.”

“More than adequate. So, with this information, I am willing to see what can be accomplished with such a unit here. Choose eight soldiers for a squad and start training them. This will have to be in addition to your regular duties at this time. When you feel your team is ready, we will see what you are capable of doing.”  

“Are there any restrictions on whom I may choose?” Nathaniel asked.

“No mages. I have too few to spare,” Stroud said. “Other than that, no.”

“Thank you sir. May I be dismissed?”

“Dismissed, Warden.”

Nathaniel left the room.

During the next two weeks, Nathaniel spent much of his free time watching the other Grey Wardens drill. Since he had the entire unit from which to choose his squad, he took his time to watch and select. Nathaniel was looking for a combination of great eye-hand coordination coupled with the ability to move quickly along with a certain quality of ruthlessness. When he had narrowed his selection down, he asked to go out on patrol with their units. He watched them as closely in camp as he did in the field and in combat. He narrowed his choices down to twelve and then approached each of them, starting with his first choice and moving on. Nathaniel wanted only volunteers for his group. Many Wardens were conscripts like himself. He didn’t want his soldiers to feel drafted a second time. He went through his ten top choices before he had his eight-person team, seven men and one woman.

Then they trained. Nathaniel’s people already had many of the necessary skills he required which made it easier to teach them the additional skills he knew. He also encouraged his people to share any combat tactics they’d picked up along the way because there were always new tactics that could be added to a warrior’s skill set. For those who hadn’t been an irregular before, he taught stealth tactics; he taught them how to walk, how to move from shadow to shadow, how to hide in tall grass and move out of it without being heard. He required each person on his team to have at least a basic proficiency with bow and arrow. While he would later choose the best archers to be their primary artillery, it was important that everyone be able to kill from a distance and provide artillery cover. 

As Nathaniel observed and trained his squad, unbeknownst to him, Stroud was observing him. Stroud was interested to see what sort of instructor and leader the younger man was. Etienne Caron believed Nathaniel had great potential. To test this theory, Nathaniel would be posted to at least one more command for evaluation. The reason was simple. There were no old commanders in the Grey. Everyone died young in the order, one way or the other. If you weren’t killed in combat, the darkspawn taint claimed you. In those who reached the age of fifty (and they were few), the calling was so strong that most could no longer function. A last battle in the Deep Roads seemed a better choice than becoming a mindless ghoul. It was critical that younger men were groomed and ready to take command. Nathaniel was considered to be a candidate for leadership, and everything that Stroud observed supported Etienne’s estimate of Nathaniel’s ability to lead.

On the day before he was to employ his team in the field, Nathaniel returned to his quarters. On his bed in the barracks lay a letter. Unsealing it quickly, Nathaniel sat down to read. Angharad’s news about her teacher and Nona brought a grin to his face. Her last words brought a lump to his throat. It was the same question that circled in mind in the minutes before sleep claimed him or in those rare times when he was at leisure. “When, my love, when?” The pain that came with the question was great and sharp. Best not to be too quiet. Best not to think. Best to stay busy.

  * \--§



Angharad came into Rywik’s workroom immediately after her morning meal. She found her new mentor sitting at a high stool at the workbench, dressed in breeches, boots, and a shirt, with the heels of his boots hooked over one of the rungs of the stool and his knees up. He leaned forward over some sort of instrument, made of circles of glass held in hoops. Without looking at her, he motioned her over. “Angharad, come here.” 

Angharad came to his side. Rywik moved over. “Look, Angharad, look.” Angharad bent over the instrument. “Do you see a clear image?”

“No, a blurry one,” Angharad replied.

Rywik moved circles of glass in and out, one at a time.

Angharad gasped suddenly and she exclaimed, “What _is_ that? What are _those_?” She amended.  Below in the dish underneath the glass instruments there was what appeared to be broth. But in the eye of the glass instrument she saw things, tiny little things that as she watched, moved, met and became more things. Rywik smiled but Angharad did not see him smile, for she was still intent on the glass.

“More of the Maker’s children,” Rywik told her. “Too small for us to see with our own eyes, but alive none the less, living their little lives in the world, entirely unnoticed by us. Right now, those in that dish are busy spoiling that bit of broth.”

Angharad turned to look at Rywik. “Spoiling the broth?  You mean they cause the broth to rot?”

Rywik nodded his head once more. “Yes, they do.” He stood up and took her arm.  “Now come, let’s get to work.”

“But—“Angharad started to protest, but Rywik said, “I’ll let you play with my toys later.”

Rywik took Angharad into another room that held almost nothing except for cushions and a glow light and a long, wide bench. He bade her sit on one cushion while he sat on the other.  “Hands, Angharad,” he told her, holding out his own. “Hands.”

Angharad placed her hands in his. Their eyes met and locked, but this time as the energy began to move out of her, she felt energy returning to her. In her mind, she could see it, the energy between them swirling like a soft whirlpool in a river. The streams of energy drew in and swirled together, circled for a time, and separated once more. Angharad mentally stepped into the whirlpool, and the combined energy passed through her. As it did, she looked about and realized that she was standing in an almost empty hall with many dead lying about. Angharad was standing over a woman, lying on the floor. Directly across from her stood a young man with black hair. As she watched, the young man plunged a knife into the woman’s neck catching the blood as it spilled from her dying body.

She felt profound sadness, guilt, and some trepidation; but, before Angharad could say anything the vision faded, and she stood in the swirling energy once more. This time Rywik was with her in the circle. “Angharad, just be.” Angharad cleared her mind and allowed the energy to wash through her once more. In that time, she saw other flashes; the Deep Roads, familiar because of her vision of Endrin’s children, filled with darkspawn, a long, long battle just to stay alive; then, she saw an old round stone building with many, many books and people; a ruin, a ruin in the late summer wind, cool, bright sunny day followed by a terrible thunderstorm and battle. Fear, excitement, and anger moved through her with the vision, and there was the taste of metal in her mouth; and then there was a room with a large fireplace, and a beautiful woman with dark hair. Angharad started to feel a stirring of desire and pulled away, withdrawing her hands and coming back to reality once more.

“That was Morrigan,” Rywik said easily, amused by Angharad’s discomfort.

“Did you love her?”

“Maker no!” Rywik said with a laugh. “Ah, but she was a most beautiful woman, and I greatly enjoyed having her!”

Then he became serious. “You must learn to do on your own what you accomplished with my help just now. You must learn to see the flow of energy and step in and out of it as you will, instead of allowing it to flood you like a spring river.” 

“I see.” 

“No you don’t, but you will see, in time,” Rywik assured her. 

He began to train Angharad in earnest then. He taught her simple meditation exercises; and he left her there to practice while he retired to his workroom. Rywik sat on his stool, deep in thought.

When Etienne had asked him to train Angharad, Rywik had agreed because he had been certain that she had to be a mage. An untrained mage was a danger to everyone, not the least the mage herself; and Rywik planned to give her the skills to prevent possession. If he determined she was already possessed, he would kill her.

That very first evening, when he took her hand, he unwrapped her psyche like a feast day gift, peeling back the layers of her mind so that her memories and feeling were entirely open. To do this was completely unforgiveable from an ethical standpoint, or so he had been taught; but Rywik had ceased to follow the rules the day he walked out of the Circle with Duncan to become a Grey Warden. Besides, he did not have time to be “polite.” He had to know if she was possessed, if she was hiding any magic use, if she was demon-plagued.

He found himself looking out through her eyes, a very disconcerting thing in itself, but when coupled with her instinctive need to look back at him, it was almost overpowering. She was filled with mana, brimming with it, overflowing with it, but as he traveled the pathways of her memory he could find no magic use, no indication at all that she could cast a spell, had ever cast a spell. It made no sense! Unless one counted the Sight as a spell, there was nothing. He also found no sign of demons. No dreams, no voices, nothing. On this day, he’d allowed Angharad to step into his mind a little and share a bit of his life. Over time, he would share more. She had to learn to trust him, and they were almost out of time. 

When Rywik discovered that Angharad used what little free time she had to teach Nona about potion making, he told Angharad to bring Nona with her in the afternoons. If he was to teach one shemlen what he knew, he may as well teach a second at the same time. Besides, Nona was nice to look at. The three of them worked on herb lore, and Rywik was pleasantly surprised to discover that Angharad had a few things to teach him as well. The afternoons were a definite reward for the grueling morning sessions.  In those weeks, the three forged a good working relationship, and Rywik allowed himself to take pleasure in the camaraderie.

The King and Queen came back to Denerim two weeks later. Two days after their return, Rywik told her to be ready the next morning to be presented to their Majesties. Rywik tried to work with Angharad, but she simply could not concentrate. The idea that she was to meet King Alistair and Queen Anora was intimidating. In her mind she was trying to decide which gown to wear, how to dress her hair, whether or not she would be able to bribe someone to bring her hot water—

“Andraste’s Flaming Knickers!” Rywik exploded. “Will you please stop the mental fashion parade and concentrate!”

Angharad tried to clear her mind, but it wasn’t long before she drifted into a comparison of the chemise with the leaves embroidered into the neck and cuffs or the plain—

“Stop!” Rywik got up from the cushions. He shook his head as if to clear it, took a deep breath and turned around. “Wear the coral dress and the chemise with the embroidery. Wear your hair up and back, and quit fretting about having hot water. I’ll fireball the tub if I have to.”  He pressed his palms to his forehead. “Now, is there anything else?”

Before Angharad could speak, Rywik said, “Wait! Wait!”  He disappeared and there was the sound of a chest being opened. He came back with a gown in deep wine red wool with cream colored embroidery in an elven pattern at the neck and on the sleeve. He threw it at Angharad. “For Nona. Now get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you again until you are ready for the hot water,” he growled.

Angharad scurried away. She and Nona spent the rest of the day preparing for Court. The gown Rywik had given Angharad for Nona was an old fashioned cut, but the color was perfect against Nona’s skin. Angharad had a linen chemise that was unbleached. It matched the color of the embroidery well. Nona wore it under the gifted tunic as Angharad worked on the hem.

“Why would he do this, Angharad?  Why would he give me this gown?” Nona asked.

“I could not stop thinking about it? None of my dresses were a color that suited you, and I wanted you to have something nice to wear?” Angharad said, speculating. “Clearly I was driving him crazy ruminating about it. I think Rywik thought this would quiet me. Nona, hold still. I must get this hem straight.”

Nona took out her braid and started brushing her hair nervously.

“Nona, hold still!” Angharad repeated. “There!” She added, finishing the hem.

“I must go thank him.” Nona turned and left the room before Angharad could say anything.

Nona crossed the hall and opened the door to Rywik’s sitting area. “Messer?  Messer?” she called out moving into the room. When she saw no one there, she opened the door to the workroom. “Messer?” Rywik turned to face her. “I came to thank you. It was very kind of you.” Nona’s voice trailed off as another man who had been sitting, stood up. Nona looked in confusion at Rywik and at the man and back again.

“I didn’t know you were the kind sort, Rywik,” The man said with a grin. He was tall with reddish blondish hair and hazel eyes. “What have you done now?”

“Messer lent me this gown for the Court tomorrow. I had nothing suitable.”

“Cross-dressing now are we?”The man said to Rywik laughing.

Rywik replied easily, not offended by the teasing, “It belonged to an old friend.”

The stranger started to speak once more when Angharad entered the room.  She immediately knew who he was. He looked very much like his half brother. “Your Majesty,” Angharad said firmly, sinking into a curtsey.

Nona, nonplussed, curtsied as well.

Alistair came forward and held his hand out to Nona, “Please, rise. You’ll get your gown dirty.” He said, smiling as he helped Nona to her feet.

Angharad hoped that the “rise” was meant for her as well as she stood. It was immediately clear that the King wasn’t concerned one way or the other. Alistair gave Nona a rather curious look before saying. “Well, Rywik, perhaps I’d best be on my way.  See you in the morning ladies.”

“Of course, Alistair. See you tomorrow.” Rywik turned back to the two women.

Nona dropped her face into her hands, her long black hair tumbled in wild curls over her shoulders. “Oh I am so embarrassed. The king. And I intruded on him.”

Angharad was about to say something but Rywik walked over to Nona and took her hands in his. “Nona. Stop. Alistair is a man like any other. He likes to look at beautiful women. He does not feel as though you imposed on him. Actually, knowing my friend, he was delighted.”

“He will not be, when he learns what I used to do,” Nona replied sadly.

“Au contraire, mon cher. Il ne m’en voudra pas. Alistair is surprisingly cosmopolitan when it comes to such things. You will see, when you tell him.” He turned her around and gave her a little push toward the door.  “Now, go. Angharad has something she wishes to say to me in private.”

Angharad waited until Nona was gone from the room. “Rywik. What are you doing? Nona is my friend.”

Rywik turnerd back to his work bench. “I gave your friend a dress, and she thanked me. Nothing more.”

“But I thought—you seemed to be interested.” Angharad replied.

“I know what you thought, Angharad, I know just about everything you think, but you were wrong. Now leave me in peace.”

The next morning Angharad and Nona stood outside a set of large double doors with many other supplicants, waiting to be called into the throne room. She and Nona had done each other’s hair, Angharad’s hair was twisted with green ribbons and pulled up and back to fall behind her down her back. Angharad's over gown caused a murmur as few of the women had seen such a style before.  It suited her slender figure, the coral color lending her warmth, 

Nona’s hair was thick and curly, so rather than braid it, the women found a piece of ecru colored lace that they used to pull the hair up in a tail.  The Angharad teased the curls into a beautiful riot tumbling down her back.  The two women stood together in the hallway, being stared at by the nobles, their retinues, merchants, and others. 

As the morning wore on, Angharad began to fear that they had been forgotten, both by Rywik who was nowhere to be seen and by the major domo who did the announcing.  Finally, Rywik appeared, walking toward them from one of the side halls. He was dressed in a mage robe quite unlike anything Angharad had ever seen before. Unlike the Tevinter and Circle robes that fit close to the body, this robe was more like a cloak with loose folds. It was also dyed a purple so deep it was almost black, with gold trim on the upright collar. As he drew closer, Angharad saw that the robe itself was simply a sleeveless garment that was drawn over a shirt and pants of the same material. Unlike boots used for riding, his boots were flat soled and no doubt included a thin layer of copper within them. The staff he carried, very black and highly polished, was made from a wood unknown to her. Affixed at one end was a blade and at the other a gold symbol which in elven stood for victory.  Encircling his forehead, he wore a thin gold diadem. He looked like a prince of the blood instead of an elven mage.

Before Angharad could say a word or ask a question, Rywik nodded to the major domo. In a loud booming voice, they were announced.  Rywik walked the length of the hall, now filled with many nobles and other observers. Angharad could hear voices and sounds from above and knew that there were people in the upper level looking down at them, but she kept her eyes focused on the King and Queen who were seated on their thrones.

Rywik came to a stop far enough away from the dais to allow Angharad to see the King and Queen without craning her neck.  He did a deep and graceful bow. Angharad and Nona dropped into curtsies and held them while Rywik stood upright and said, “Your majesties, may I present Angharad Whittall, Apothecary and Surgeon to the Arling of Amaranthine and her assistant, Nona du Lac. They are here to further their education in the healing arts.”

Anora spoke, “Rise, Angharad and Nona. Welcome to our Court.  We are most pleased to meet representatives of the Grey Wardens of Vigil’s Keep and to hear of the good news of renewal and rebuilding that is occurring there. You must dine with us while we are in residence.  We shall welcome your company at supper this night.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Angharad replied, bowing her head. She moved to withdraw, but King Alistair spoke up. “Sirrah, please make an appointment with my secretary. I should like to hear what news you have from the Commander.”

Angharad bowed her head once more.  “As you desire, Your Majesty.” 

Rywik began to back away. Taking her cue from him, she did as well. They stepped back a few steps before turning and walking out of the hall. Once they were back in the anteroom once more, Rywik said, “You two can go on about your business until supper. I must return to the throne room and listen to even more nobles whining about their taxes and their military obligations to the Crown.” 

He got the smallest of grins on his face. “Remember supper is at the nineteenth hour.  And wear something easy to clean. The nobles tend to fling food bits about as they eat.” With that he turned and went down the side hall.


	3. The Palace

Book Two- Chapter Three  
The Palace  
In the days that followed their presentation to the King and Queen, Angharad and Nona were left to themselves. Rywik was concerned with affairs of State; so, aside from exhorting Angharad to practice her meditation exercises, he disappeared in the mornings and did not reappear until meal times. Angharad and Nona took supper those first few nights in the great hall, but decided that it was easier to eat in the servants’ hall. Too many nobles thought that two women sitting alone must be in need of male company.    
Angharad continued to teach Nona what she knew about herbs and medicines. The palace had extensive gardens and greenery, so she was able to point out many of the plants used to make remedies to her friend. Their dream to make potions and ointments and sell them was quickly ended when Angharad discovered that the Denerim market was strictly apportioned to licensed vendors. The penalties for selling goods without such a license were severe. Angharad wasn’t sure what she and Nona would do once her dwindling cash was gone, but at least they would not starve so long as they were allowed access to the servants’ hall.  
A letter came from Nathaniel during this time.    
Angharad:  
I write to tell you that I am well. I have been given a small command, a squad of eight to train as a scouting unit. My new commander seems to be well respected and admired by the men. I have not yet had the chance to judge his capabilities for myself, but I have no reason to doubt what the other men have told me.  
The patrols and training keep me engaged, but when I am alone and at rest, I miss you more than it is possible to say. I close my eyes and imagine you beside me. There are times when you are so real to me, that I can feel the touch of your hand on my shoulder and the whisper of your breath on my face. You are always with me, anwylaf. Be well.  
Nathaniel   
Angharad read the letter and began to cry. Nona read the note and sat down beside her weeping friend. “Angharad. You must not grieve so. You will see him again.”    
Angharad shook her head. “It is just that I am so lonely for him,” Angharad sobbed. She went into their bedroom, curled up on the bed, and cried for a long time before falling asleep.  
The next morning, she dressed in her blue-green bliaut. Today was the day of her appointment with the king. Angharad did not know what she could say about the Grey Wardens that would be of interest to him. Alistair Therin had been one himself until Fate made him the heir to the throne. Still, it did not matter. If the king wanted to meet with her, then she would meet with him.   
 She had no need to ask for help in finding the way to his official chamber. She had traveled the servants’ halls of the palace many times and knew exactly which secret door to exit to be near the King’s study. When she reached the anteroom, she found another petitioner waiting to see Alistair. The door opened, and the man who was waiting went in. Angharad closed her eyes and tried to relax as she waited her turn.  
She woke as someone shook her shoulder. She looked up to find the king gently shaking her awake. Angharad jumped up, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” she began, but Alistair interrupted her.   
“You don’t have to apologize. I find waiting a bore myself. Sleeping seems a good use of your time.”  He started down the hall, forcing Angharad to jump up quickly. “Do you mind walking?” He added, indicating the hall that led to the gardens. “I don’t walk enough anymore. Used to walk all the time when I was a Warden. Now I sit on my arse all day.”  
“No, Your Majesty. I would like to walk.” Angharad caught up to him as he passed through the doors leading to the gardens, opened for him by the guards.   
Once they were outside, Alistair slowed his pace a little and said, “They tell me you were at the Vigil during the siege.”    
“I was. There were many brave souls who died defending the Vigil during those weeks.  Our Seneschal, Varel, a good and decent man, was one of them. Oghren was a great hero, for he fought ogres and held the gate.”  
“Did he? Maker! Is he still drinking anything and everything?” Alistair asked.  
“Yes. But it is no longer a joke among the wardens. They are concerned for him.”  
Alistair sighed but said nothing else about his old comrade. Instead he said, “I understand that Caron chose to defend Amaranthine rather than the Vigil. Did the soldiers understand the necessity?”   
“Yes. The Vigil was a military target. We who resided there understood that we could expect an attack. The Commander had spent a great deal of coin to upgrade the keep’s defenses, and he had a wonderful stone mason to do the job. Our walls held for weeks. Amaranthine, on the other hand, was filled with civilians. They were almost overrun before the Warden Commander arrived. Had the Commander not defended Amaranthine, he would have been forced to torch the town, and many more lives would have been lost. The Commander took seriously his duty as the acting Arl to defend his people. He is a great hero in their eyes.”  
“Yes. Etienne Caron is a good man, and an excellent soldier. I am unhappy that political circumstances forced his recall,” Alistair said.  
They continued to walk the garden. There was little left to see there, for the autumn was on them in earnest now, and most of the perennials were dying, the root vegetables harvested, and the ground waiting to be turned and covered for winter.  
Angharad thought of the smile on the Commander’s face the last night she had seen him. “I have to tell you, Your Majesty, that the good Commander was quite happy to be recalled. His maîtresse will be waiting for him at Weisshaupt. He has not seen Giselle in three years. ”  
Alistair grinned. “Lucky man! They continued to walk together in silence for a moment. “So, Angharad, tell me about Nathaniel Howe.”    
Angharad stopped and turned to him, “You have to understand, Your Majesty, that anything I would tell you about Nathaniel is colored by what I feel for him. I am, after all, his mistress.”  
“Another lucky man.” Alistair gave Angharad and appreciative but not lecherous glance.  
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Angharad replied, trying to be as easy about it as he was. Then she thought for a moment and began.   
“Nathaniel is much like you. He loves being a Warden. Like you, he was conscripted into the order and found purpose there. As a lad, he was forced to leave his home for a place that he hated; again, much like you. Unlike you, he will never give up the Wardens. Nathaniel has completely dedicated himself to their goals.”   
“Ouch. Now that hurt!” Alistair said,   
Angharad blushed. “Your Majesty. I did not mean to imply that you—” Angharad bit her lip and started again.  “Majesty, everyone in Ferelden was overjoyed that you decided to marry the Queen and become our King. Your decision reunited our country so that we could defeat the darkspawn. Perhaps others cannot understand the sacrifice you made for us, but I do.”  
“Oh yes, quite a sacrifice. I gave up a life of constant combat and camping for the comforts of a palace, political power, and military might. Although foregoing the boiled lamb and pea stew has been difficult at times, I would say that I have the better bargain! Not much sacrifice there,” he quipped.  
Angharad laughed. “Now, there is another difference between you and Nathaniel.  Nathaniel seldom gets a joke, let alone makes one, but you have a well-honed sense of the ridiculous.”    
Alistair frowned.  “No humor?  How does he get through the hard times?”    
“Good planning, Your Majesty,” Angharad replied, straight faced.  
Alistair laughed for a long time. They walked on.  
Rywik was waiting for Angharad when she returned to her rooms. Angharad lost her smile and stepped past him. “Why are you here?” She asked him.  
“To teach you?” Rywik countered.   
“I don’t want to be taught today.” Angharad said, pulling the laces loose on her bliaut, pulling it unceremoniously over her head and throwing it on her bed. She went to her chest and took out trousers and shirt.  Kicking off her fancy slippers, she stepped into the trousers and began to pull them up under her chemise. “And you seem to be in no hurry to teach me, so what does one more day matter?” Angharad added.  
Rywik followed her into the room, but stopped short as she drew the chemise over her head. She stood with her back to him, but it was still a pleasant experience to see the graceful line of her spine and shoulders as she put on a shirt and pulled it down to tuck into her pants.   
“So, what do you intend to do?” He asked, amused by her rebellious attitude. He stood there watching as she put on socks and boots, withdrew two scabbards from her chest, and fixed them to her waist and arm.  
She turned around. “I plan to find somewhere private where I may draw these blades and wield them, pretending all the while that you are my opponent.”   
 “If you will but wait a moment, I will show you where you may practice, and I will give you a chance to take me on in earnest.” He retorted, almost laughing at her now.  
“I’d like that.”   
Rywik changed from his fancy court attire into pants and shirt.  He appeared quickly, his own weapons in hand and two sets of wooden knives as well. “Follow me.”  He led her quickly down to a high walled area accessible only by a single gate.    
Rywik ushered her inside and without speaking to one another, they went through warm up exercises. Rywik handed Angharad a set of wooden practice knives and took a set himself. “All right, shem*, eviscerate me if you can.”  
Angharad and Rywik began to spar. If he expected her to rush in and attack him, he was sorely mistaken, for both Nathaniel and Tomas had taught her to be patient. As she would usually be smaller than an attacking enemy, she had learned to allow her attacker to move so that she could counter. With Rywik, though, this strategy did not work. He, too, was patient, and he was faster. She tried her best to score hits on him, but he was just a little out of reach, a little more agile. It had been too long and Angharad was out of condition, so after only a short time she was out of breath and shaky.  
Rywik on the other hand was barely breathing hard. With a scream of anger, she threw the wooden knives at him and then covered her head with her arms and began to cry. She sank to the ground, cross-legged and curled into herself, sobbing. Rywik had dodged the knives easily and now leaned against the stone wall waiting for Angharad to settle down. When the sobs turned to sniffles, he dropped gracefully into a half lotus position beside her. “Tell me.”  
Angharad slowly sat more upright. “I miss him, Rywik. I miss him so much. We were so happy together. I hadn’t been happy since my mother died.”   
The teardrops clung to her lashes, sparkling as they dropped to her cheek. Rywick gently brushed them away.  
“Do you know that the first time I saw him, I was thirteen? I had almost ruined his Marbari pups, but instead of being angry, he spoke a few words of kindness to me and then he was gone to be squire. But I never forgot. I did not hope that he would care for me, but he does. And, when I am with him, I feel safe and excited and comforted and loved. I feel beautiful because I can see that, in his eyes, I am beautiful.” Angharad’s voice took on a note of anxiety. “I do not allow myself to imagine what might happen to him. I can be brave for him, but it is harder when I cannot hold him in my arms at night and hear him breathing, feel his heart beating.” She started to cry again.  
“Enough of that, Angharad. A certain amount of crying can be beneficial, but too much is just indulgence. You will not change your situation with tears.” The words were stern, but Rywick’s tone was kind. He took her hand and drew her to her feet.  “Come let us walk back to our quarters and you can tell me who taught you how to use those knives.”  
Angharad helped him gather their things together. She did calm down, realizing that Rywik was right. More tears would not help. “I did not do my teachers justice today. Nathaniel and Tomas taught me well. I did not perform to their standard. I must say that I am more than impressed however, by your skill. I thought combat arts were considered too plebian by the magical crowd.”  
Rywik smiled at that. “On the contrary, a smart mage knows that the best addition to spell casting is a good weapon or two and the skill to use them.”  
“Who taught you?” Angharad asked him as they walked.  
“Zevran and Leliana taught me a great deal; and, there was a woman named Isabella,” Rywik replied. “A year in the field fighting darkspawn, demons, and abominations also honed my skills. I must say that you fought well enough, though it is clear that you are out of practice. I drill every morning at dawn in that small courtyard. You are welcome to join me. It would be good to have a sparring partner.”  
“Thank you. I would like that.”    
Angharad started to go into her own quarters to change, but Rywik stopped her. “What did you have to say to our king this morning?”  He asked her.  
“We talked about the Wardens and the siege at the Vigil and Nathaniel,” Angharad explained.  “Why?”  
“He is coming up later to my quarters to play Wicked Grace and talk. He wondered if you and your friend would care to join us.”  
Angharad looked troubled. “Do you think this is wise?”   
“Accommodating kings to the greatest extent possible is usually a good idea. I presume you are wondering if His Majesty has more in mind that merely your company. I can assure you that even if he did, he would never demand of you more than you would willingly offer. He simply isn’t that sort of man. Too much Chantry training at an early age, I suspect.”  
“Very well, then. What time?”   
Rywik shrugged. “Around the twentieth hour. Alistair doesn’t stay in the main hall much longer than it takes him to eat his meal. Now that the formalities of Court have abated, he tries to leave before dancing starts. Angharad, when you are dressed, come across the hall. We really must do some productive work today.”   
“Very well, master. I hear and obey,” She replied with an exaggerated bow.  
That evening, after their meal in the great hall, Angharad and Nona went back upstairs to Rywik’s quarters. As they approached the door, the two men’s laughter rang out and Angharad hesitated.  Nona sensed Angharad’s timidity and took her hand.  “Not to worry, Angharad.  Underneath the crown and the titles, they are only men. I will handle them. You will see.” They walked into the room together.    
With the King’s return to Denerim, Rywik had brought back the comfortable couches and chairs that he’d put in storage. Rywik was stretched out on one of the couches while the King was sitting in a chair with his feet up on the low table in front of him. Rywik turned at the sound of their approach. He wondered to himself if Angharad and Nona knew how beautiful a tableau they formed standing together in the candlelight.  
Angharad was as supple and slender as a reed, her long waist and gentle slope to her hip made all the more beautiful by the snug fit of the bliaut. Her dress was dark purple, a color that made her skin shine like white marble. Her hair was braided, Orlesian style, with purple and silver ribbons. She was a swan, gliding into the room, a little shy, ready to take flight if startled.  Her features were even, her nose straight, her mouth a perfect bow of classical perfection. She possessed a quiet sort of beauty that appealed to his sense of order.  
Nona was again dressed in a wine-red gown but this one drifted over her generous curves at bosom, waist and hips. Unlike Angharad, Nona was clearly at ease with their stares. Her chin, with its small cleft, was tipped slightly upward as if to challenge them, and her eyes were bright with merriment. Nona had a generous mouth, one that begged to be kissed. Her dark eyes at first appeared to be black, but if you looked closely, they were more dark-violet, the true color only apparent in a certain light, lending her mystery. Her thick black hair was a riot of curls, begging to be set free from the ribbons that held it in place. Rywik’s groin tightened a little just thinking of how she would look dressed only in her hair. Slowly, he looked away and grinned to himself.  
The two women dropped into a curtsey. “Your Majesty,” They said in unison.  
Alistair sat up and removed his feet from the table. “Please get up, and let’s not have any more Your Majesty tonight. I always want to look around the room for the real king.”   
Before Angharad could think of something to say, Nona said, “Gentlemen, I understand that you wish to play Wicked Grace**. I must warn you of two things. One, I am a master of the game; and, two, Angharad and I have no money with which to begin, so we will need a loan.”    
Alistair frowned. “No money? Truly? How have you managed without money?”  He looked over at Rywik who also seemed puzzled. “I was certain that provision had been made for your stay here, Angharad. Wasn’t there a note to the exchequer for a loan in your name to be repaid by the Arling?”  
Angharad blushed deeply. “I do not know. I know nothing of such things.”  
Nona interjected merrily. “The exchequer can hardly help us out of this dilemma tonight.  Will you accept our marker?”  
“Of course,” Alistair replied promptly.   
“Parfait,” Nona replied. “Card?”  
Entranced, Alistair handed Nona the deck of cards and the men watched as she deftly shuffled the deck with the skill of a professional dealer before offering them to Alistair for a cut.   
Angharad did not sit down. Instead she said, “I do not know how to play. My work at the castle left little time for cards.”  
Nona laughed, “While I, a courtesan, was required to know many games of chance that included card and dice.”  
Rywik silently caught Angharad’s eye and motioned her to sit beside him on the sofa as Alistair spoke to Nona. “Now I am entirely curious as to your origins ladies, and I shall not be satisfied until you tell your tales to me.”    
Nona looked at her friend. “You go first, Angharad.”  
Angharad briefly summarized her life for the two men. Alistair asked, “And how much about horses did you learn from your father?”    
“Enough, messer, to tell good horse flesh from a nag. Papa was a good teacher.”  
“And you, Nona. How did you come to be here in Denerim?” Alistair asked.  
Nona smiled at him. “It is a very old story. I was sold to a whorehouse by parents who were starving and needed money. A wealthy patron liked me well enough to purchase me for himself.  His patronage gave me access to the highest courts in Orlais, and for a time, I wore the finest silks and best shoes. Then, he grew tired of me and sent me into the street. I made my way from there as best I could. For a time, I traveled with a group of people and ended up in Ferelden at the Wending Wood.” Nona smiled at Angharad who took her friend’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And the rest you know. But one of the skills I learned from my time as a nobleman’s pet was how to play cards. I give you fair warning that I intend to win all your money tonight,” Nona teased.  
Bemused, Alistair replied, “You may try,”  
Nona dealt the cards to Alistair and Rywik saying, “Angharad, you watch tonight and learn how the game is played.”  
 Nona had both men laughing at her amusing stories of life in the Orlesian Court and the fashion wars that took place there. They laughed so much that they paid little attention to the game and were consistently losing to her. Angharad watched, but cards were simply not something she found interesting. Instead, she contented herself with pouring wine from time to time as she listened to the banter between Nona and the King. After Rywik had lost all his coin, Nona taught Alistair a two-handed game called Spinster’s Gift. Her comments, rife with sexual innuendo, kept him laughing.  
By the time the candles had burned down, Nona had most of the coin on the table in front of her. Angharad was asleep on the sofa, and Rywik had disappeared. “I think, Your Majesty, that it is time to fold the cards and say good night,” Nona told Alistair.   
Alistair stretched his shoulders and yawned. “I truly enjoyed learning Spinster’s Gift, Thank you for an interesting and entertaining evening.”   
“My pleasure, Your Majesty, particularly since I have won most of your coin.”  Nona smiled at Alistair without pretense. He was a handsome man, a kind one, surprisingly unassuming for a royal, easy to like.  
Alistair returned her smile and then looked around. “Well, my friend has vanished. If you see him, tell Rywik I said good night.”  
“I will, Your Majesty.” Nona waited until Alistair left the room before waking Angharad. “Come, amie, we must find our own room.  The night grows late.”   
Together they crossed the hall,  
Rywik lay on his bed and listened to his company leave. Hands behind his head, he stretched and rolled to one side. He felt relaxed for the first time in months. Everything was now truly set in motion. He could now do what he had to do without feeling guilty. He fell asleep.


	4. Lessons and Examinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad continues her lessons with Rywick. A test of her abilities proves useful. A Court Dinner brings a surprise.

# Chapter Four -Book Two

**Lessons and Examinations**

The days moved one into the other and became weeks as Angharad and Rywik fell into a routine. She met him at dawn in the walled courtyard and they sparred, usually with knives but sometimes hand-to-hand. Rywik also began teaching Angharad the rudiments of using a staff. After an hour or two, they gleaned what they could find in the kitchens for breakfast and then went up to his quarters and worked.

One morning, they walked into his quarters to find a stranger waiting, an elf, dressed in breeches and shirt.

“Thank you for coming.” Rywik said to the lad. “Hold out your hands, please. Angharad, come here. Take his hands.”

Understanding what Rywik expected of her, Angharad took the elf’s hands in hers, drew breath and opened. She stepped into the man’s past as simply as she stepped through a door into another room. As she saw his life unfold, inside her head she could hear Rywik, “Now Angharad, turn and see what is to come. Slowly.”  Angharad turned in a slow circle.

Then it came, a pinpoint of darkness that swelled to completely encompass her and then fade away revealing bright sunlight. She was standing near a very old oak tree decorated with symbols. At the base of the tree lay flowers and other natural things. The tree was scarred, as though it had been subject to a fire, but it still lived, its leaves green.

 As she looked around from the tree, she saw that she stood in the midst of the poorest of slums among the meanest of buildings. She walked slowly through the muck and the mud, away from the tree and toward the sound of laughter and celebration. In the middle of the mire, the trash, and the ramshackle homes, there was a beautifully painted platform. On the platform stood the elf beside a graceful elven girl with silver-blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes, As Angharad watched, an elder came forward to join their hands together, and around them stood happy people smiling and wishing them well.

The darkness grew once more and retreated. Now she stood in a small home, the young elf no longer quite so young, with a little boy on his lap. The beautiful girl was a woman now, with another baby on her hip. She kissed the man before handing him the child she held. She turned to the cook pot, humming. The darkness came once more but this time she found herself back in Rywik’s room, holding hands with a stranger.

“She is all silver and blue.”

“And your daughter will be as well.”

“Beauty incarnate will they be to you.”

“Your son will be strong and brave, bold and bonny.”

“Pride of the ancestors. Hope of the future.”

“And your lady will love you always.”         

“Will she?” The young man said, suspicious. “Who is this paragon of beauty?”

 “Your father is arranging a marriage for you this very month. Your bride comes from Redcliffe. She is very beautiful. You haven’t met, but your father knows the family; when you see her, you will be so happy!”

Rywik handed a gold sovereign to the young elf, whose eyes grew wide at the sight of such a coin, “Go. Thank you for your time, lethallin.”

“Ma nuvenin, haren.” The man bowed slightly and left.

Angharad waited for the sickness. When it did not come, she turned to Rywik. “I am not ill. It cannot be a true seeing. I am always ill afterward.” 

Rywik shook his head. He sat down and pointed to the seat beside him. Angharad sat next to him and waited. “You were always ill because you were fighting the visions. Your fear caused the nausea. It is also the reason why you so seldom had a visual image. Now you no longer fight your gift; you accept it willingly. You may still experience the sickness, especially when what you see troubles you, but it will grow less in time and with practice.”

Rywik took her hand. “Angharad, you have always believed that the future was immutable, but I tell you that this is not so. The future is never written in stone. Every choice carries a different possibility forward in time. Every decision, however small, can affect and change what is to come. Yes, some things _are_ almost impossible to change because they hinge on one moment or one choice or because every choice leads to the event.  But those times are rarer than you believe.” Rywik sighed deeply. “There isn’t much left for me to teach you. I have given you what I know about your ability to see the future. Now you must use it.”

Rywik looked away from her and stared into the distance. Seeing him in profile reminded her of the ancient statutes at home in the cellars of the Vigil. One was the warrior at rest.  Another was the hunter stalking prey. His black hair framed a perfectly sculpted nose and chin. Elves often seemed childlike in their appearance, but there was nothing of a child in Rywik’s features. His very essence radiated the power that hummed inside him like leashed lightning. He was a most handsome male, and she wondered yet again why there was no woman in his life. 

Rywik said nothing for a long while.  He seemed to make up his mind about something and turned to her once more, taking her left hand and rotating it so that she could see the scar on her palm. “Angharad. A word of caution, if you will listen.”  

When Angharad nodded, he pointed to the symbol in her hand. “This mark, this ward, is an ancient symbol of my people. It is older than you know, older than Halamshiral and the Dales. This mark is a warning, not _to_ you but to protect you. The mark says, _keep away_. Asha'bellanar set a mark in your hand to warn others away, Angharad, and that concerns me. “

Rywik paused for a moment as he carefully framed his words.  “Morrigan, Asha'bellanar’s daughter, believed that her mother managed to live all these centuries by possessing the body of a younger woman when the one she inhabited grew too old. Because Morrigan believed she was to be her mother’s next body, I and three of my companions went into the wilds and slew Flemeth. Do you understand? I personally killed that old hag after she shapeshifted into a dragon, and yet, somehow, she still lives.”

“Is she a demon, then?” Angharad asked him.

“No. Not a demon. But I cannot tell you what she is because quite frankly, I do not know. But I know that she is very powerful, and you must beware.”

She started to rise, but he took her arm once more. “Sit down. There is something else.” Angharad sat down, but Rywik rose and began to pace. “I know that you have guessed a little about the joining, but I must make all clear to you so that you will understand what Nathaniel, Alistair, I and all Grey Wardens face.” He looked directly at her and said, “You must promise me that you will not share what I am about to tell you. The Wardens might decide to kill you if they knew that you knew, so swear on whatever you hold sacred that you will not reveal what I am about to say.”

“I swear.”

He began to pace once more. “You know that the darkspawn carry a something that is contagious. It infects every living thing they come in contact with in time. It is like a disease or a slow poison. Plants, animals, people, all change, become monsters, corrupted and mad. Even the very soil on which the darkspawn travel becomes cursed and will not grow anything for decades.”

“When you travel the Deep Roads and come to the places the darkspawn inhabit, the walls are covered with their corruption, their taint. Living men who are captured and exposed become ghouls, insane and inhuman. Women have a worse fate, they too are changed, but they are also impregnated in some way and they produce the next generation of darkspawn. Not as we do, not one child at a time, but like ants or bees, spawn after spawn, day and night.” 

“And underneath it all, Angharad is the Call. It is the sound of the old ones, the old gods, or dragons who are buried deep in the earth. The Call drives the darkspawn to dig, to search and find yet another old god buried deep in the ground. When they find one, their disease taints the old god just as it does any other living thing. When that happens, an archdemon is born and another Blight begins. The spawn use the taint to sense one another as well as hear the Call. The archdemon speaks to them and to us through the taint.”

“During the first Blight it was discovered that some few, some very few humans, elves and dwarves, when given a mixture of darkspawn blood, archdemon’s blood, and lyrium did not die and did not become ghouls. Instead, those who first drank this mixture were able to hear the Call and sense darkspawn. These volunteers who took the potion and lived gave us the advantage we desperately needed to end the first Blight. Angharad, few people would believe how close our world came to total annihilation during the first Blight. Our numbers were so few, it was uncertain if we would survive. Someone discovered that a bit of magic included in the production of the potion improved its effectiveness and lowered slightly the mortality rate for those ingesting it, so that has become the standard for the drink used at the joining. We lose about one in every five recruits at the joining because the drink kills them outright.” 

Rywik continued, “Because we knew that there were still old gods to be found, and that eventually, another Blight would begin, the Order was created. We became the Grey Wardens, dedicated to one set of goals: Eradicate the darkspawn, slay the archdemons, and end the Blight should it reoccur. On the whole, it works well.  Even when the only two wardens left in Ferelden were new recruits who hadn’t a clue as to what they were getting into, we, Alistair and I managed somehow to slay the archdemon, but it was a near run thing.”

 “Our immunity does not last, though. As we age, our ability to withstand the taint decreases. The nightmares all Grey Wardens suffer as a result of drinking the potion—what we call the joining—become truly hideous. And, the Call grows louder and louder. When that happens, the warden knows it is time. We find an entrance to the Deep Roads and go down into the deep to seek out a quick death at the hands of our enemy.”

“I know.” Angharad said quietly.

Rywik made a shushing gesture with his hands. “Yes, Angharad, I know that you know this.  I spent a great deal of time traipsing around in your head to discover just what you did know, remember? But what you do not know is what the taint does to mages.”

Rywik turned to face her once more. “The taint infects our gift as surely as it infects our body. I cannot explain it other than I know that while I gained some abilities, there were others that I lost when I was joined. I used to be able to see the future as you do. When I became a Warden, I lost that part of my gift, not because I no longer see things, but because I cannot trust the visions not to be sent by an old god rather than a true telling.”

“But I am not a mage.” Angharad said to him, puzzled.

Rywik tilted his head a little. “Aren’t you? You certainly are not a spell caster. But mana flows through you like a waterfall. I don’t know what you are, though I’ve tried to figure you out.” He waved his hand dismissively.  “It doesn’t matter. Ultimately, it does not matter.  Mage or not, if you take the joining I am almost certain that you will lose your gift, or at least your ability to trust your gift. So, unless it means your life, you must not become a Warden.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Angharad asked him quietly.

“Why I am telling you is not important, Angharad. _That_ I am telling you this is important. You must remember what I have said this day,” Rywik insisted.

“I will remember,” she promised him. Mischievously, Angharad drew a little closer.  “You are in a talkative mood, my master. May I ask one thing more?”

Rywik rolled his eyes. “You may ask.”

“For a mage, you don’t cast many spells. Why is that?”

“Smarter than she looks.” Rywik murmured, teasing. Louder, he said, “What do you think happens when a spell is cast?”

Angharad thought for a moment and said, “You draw on mana and use it to modify reality in some way. In a fire spell you convert mana to light and heat through combustion. With lightning you use mana to charge the particles in the air so that they give off electricity.”

“You have been studying. I am impressed,” Rywik told her, quite pleased that she was taking the work seriously. “What you said is true enough, but there is one thing more. Each discharge of mana lights up the Fade like a summer storm. Fade spirits, be they demons or not are drawn to that energy discharge, and to the mage who wields the energy. Every use of mana opens a way, however small from the Fade into our reality. They come to that opening because they want to slip through, and they surround the mage who provides the opening.” Rywik shrugged his shoulders.  “If I don’t cast spells, then they leave me alone. It’s quieter that way.”

Angharad thought for a moment. “I see. It must be difficult enough to be demon plagued. The demons themselves try to enter you through dreams. And then to suffer the dreams caused by taint—unbearable.”

“Clever gel.” Rywik responded.

“And why no sweetheart?” Angharad threw out, hoping to catch him off guard.

Instead, Rywik laughed. “I strongly suspect that all your prior questions were merely a cover to ask me why I have no mistress! Why is it that women cannot bear to see a male unattached?”

“I suspect it has do to with economy of purpose,” Angharad told him.  “Women see a handsome male and think N _ow there’s a fine looking baby-maker. Why isn’t he being put to good use?_ ”

Rywik laughed a long time at that. “Thought that one out on your own, did you?”

“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”

“No, I am not. Now go and do whatever it is you find amusing when you aren’t torturing me.”

Smiling, Angharad left his quarters.

When she returned to her own quarters, they were empty. Angharad had been working from dawn until dark every day with Rywik, and she had left Nona pretty much on her own.  It was no surprise that Nona found other things to do.

 Angharad washed and changed her clothing into something more suitable for supper in the great hall. Because Rywik felt it was important to broaden Angharad’s horizons, he had given her a great many things to read. There were books on everything from the history of Ferelden, to the ancient cultures of the Avaar, Elvhen, and Dwarven folk. She found the books fascinating, and she drank in the knowledge like a thirsty traveler on the Pilgrim Road. There were days when she drove Rywik mad with questions about the things she had read. Outwardly he growled at her, but in truth, he was pleased by her desire to learn. Even now, she sank down into a chair with a book in hand to read while she waited.

Nona came rushing in just before time to go down to the great hall. Angharad watched, bemused, as Nona changed from her simple dress into something more formal. “Oh mon Créateur! I am so late!”  She moaned, struggling into her gown.

“Sit, your hair needs re-braiding.” Angharad said to her friend, as she deftly styled Nona’s unruly hair. “Come, we will be late, and the bread will be eaten.”

Nona began cursing softly in Orlesian as they walked, quickly, to the hall. When they arrived and started toward their usual place at the table, the major domo, said. “Messers Whittall and Du Lac, Highever has invited you to sit at his table this evening.  If you will follow me.”

Alistair’s great hall was set out in the usual fashion for a Ferelden lord. The high table sat alone, with room enough for the King and Queen and their councilors. Two tables, set slightly lower, were arranged at right angles.  One placed on the King’s side and one on the Queen’s. These tables were occupied by the nobles with the highest precedence who were in residence at the time. The Teyrn of Highever was the noble of first precedence; He sat on the King’s side whenever he was at Court. The Teyrn of Gwaren, was second in precedence.  He or she sat on the Queen’s side. Since the Queen was the Teyrna of Gwaren, a title she retained despite being Queen, she decided who would sit at the Gwaren table. Anora often used a seat at her table as a reward for good service to the Crown. Below the Teyrn’s tables were the Arls’ and Banns’ tables, occupied by those who had sworn fealty to either Highever or Gwaren. All nobles swore homage to the King in Ferelden.

Angharad wore her old violet gown this evening.  Aside from ribbons braided in her hair, she wore no adornments of any kind, though tucked in her long sleeve was her favorite knife, securely fastened in its sheath. At her waist was the more ceremonial knife she would use for the meal.

They were late. Alistair and Anora were already at their place at table. Angharad and Nona walked the gauntlet of stares, and curtsied deep, looking to Anora for leave to rise. It may have been her imagination, but Angharad suspected that Anora let them stay in the uncomfortable posture for a little longer than was usual before signaling them to rise. Only then did Angharad turn to the Teyrn’s table and curtsey.

The Teyrn was not at the table, but the Teryna gave them leave to rise immediately and said, “Please, join us, ladies. My husband tells me that you were most hospitable to his grace during his visit to the Vigil.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Angharad and Nona rose to walk to the chairs farther down the table that were still empty, but before she could sit down, the Teyrna whispered something to the woman beside her, who moved away.

 “Angharad,” The Teyrna said, “Come. Sit beside me.” Angharad did as she was bid and sat beside the Teyrna, completely aware that every eye in the hall was now on her. The Teyrn was up at the King’s table, having been invited to sit there for the evening.

Petra Cousland was a woman only slightly older than Angharad herself. She was appealing without being classically beautiful, with dark brown hair that flowed to her waist.  Held in place by a thin gold filigree circlet of Elvhen design, it lay smooth and heavy against her back. Though her skin was lovely, the color of rich cream, smooth and unblemished, her eyes were her true beauty. Almond shaped and amber colored, they shown with her kindness and intelligence. Her fine, winged eyebrows set them off to perfection.  

Angharad settled herself at the table and took food and drink from the servants. Once the hall seemed to settle down, Petra leaned over a little and said, “My husband tells me that I have you to thank for mending his wounds at the Vigil. You helped to heal much more than you realize.”

“I was glad to give service to him, my lady. The Teyrn is a wise ruler, and a good man who deserves his happiness.”

Petra held out her hand to Angharad. “Please, see. I have been using your soap. Not only is it my favorite fragrance but it has helped to heal my chapped hands. You must tell me the secret ingredients!”

 Angharad took Petra’s hands in hers and turned them over and back again. She saw only good things there, at least for those remaining years of peace that all were to experience. She saw children and a faithful couple loving one another.

“When is your baby due?” Angharad asked casually as she let go the Teyrna’s hands and turned to her meal.

Petra blushed. “I think in late summer or early fall. But no one save my maid knows of this.  How did you?”

Angharad smiled. “Your lord knows.  He is waiting for you to surprise him, but he knows already.”

“How?” Petra asked, astonished and a little uneasy.

“My lady, when a woman conceives a child, there are changes that happen to her body. Color changes in places a man would surely notice. Also, a colored line begins to show down the center of your belly. It is an unmistakable sign that a woman is carrying a child. Your husband has seen these changes in you. He knows.” Angharad lowered her voice and leaned closer to the Teyrna. “He loves you very much, my lady. You bring him happiness he thought never to experience again.

“How—” Petra started to speak, but Angharad interrupted her. 

“Look at your husband, Lady. Now.” Angharad commanded softly.

Petra looked up in time to find her Fergus staring at her from the King’s table. No woman could mistake the love and desire in his expression. When he caught her gaze, he smiled before turning his attention to the King once more.

“Oh my!” Petra said, blushing, but then she smiled, her question as to how Angharad knew her secret forgotten in the knowledge that Fergus truly desired her.

Angharad turned her attention to her meal and the conversation to lighter things.  Angharad promised the Teyrna more soap and the recipe for making it. She also promised the Teyrna a list of herbs that would protect her pregnancy.

Soon the food was cleared, save the wine, ale and cider, and the Queen’s musicians began to play. Alistair and Anora came down to lead the dancing, beginning with the Pavane. The lords and ladies of the court formed sets for the dance. Fergus came to claim his wife, and Angharad watched with pleasure as everyone took their places and began the stately steps and the King and Queen began the dance.

It was strange. Angharad saw that there was no love between them, but neither were they enemies. She expanded her consciousness to try and get a feel for their relationship.  _Not lovers. Not truly friends. Partners. That was it. Partners with a common interest._ She thought. _In time, friends, perhaps. But not yet, not yet._

Angharad happened to catch the King as he glanced toward her table. The expression on his face was that of a man interested in a woman. Angharad turned to see whom the King favored. Angharad realized that it was Nona who drew his admiring glance. Nona was engaged is conversation with another young woman so perhaps it was she who drew Alistair’s attention, but Angharad doubted it. Angharad got up from her place at the table and started to sit down by Nona, but she was intercepted by Rywik.

“Care to dance?” He asked, taking her by the elbow and leading her away.

“Except for the Carole and some country dances, I am afraid I do not know how. It is not a part of the competences one needs as a servant girl.”

“Then let us walk a bit and observe our fellow sentient beings.” Rywik replied, indicating the way forward toward the far end of the hall. 

Without looking directly at Rywik, Angharad asked, “What do you know about my friend and the King that you have not yet told me?”

“Not much. Not yet. But I have hope for them. They are good for one another.”

Angharad used all her control not to stop and face him. “It may be good for the King, but how is it good for Nona?  She is the one who will be discarded, not your king.” 

“I can assure you, Angharad that what you fear will not come to pass. Alistair is a good and just man. He would never treat a woman so, particularly one he fancies. You will see.” They continued around the room, walking too quickly for others to pick up more than a word or two of their conversation.

“And if Alistair does not live up to your expectation of him, what then of my friend?” They had reached the back of the hall and turned to walk the other side of the room.  Angharad took the opportunity to glance at Rywik who seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Make provision for her yourself if you are concerned for her future,” Rywik told her.

Angharad did stop at that point. “With what? Tell me, master. I have no fortune—“

“Yes you do.”

“No, I do not.”

“Yes you do!” Rywik insisted.  “Angharad, I spoke with the exchequer. You have seventy-five sovereigns credited to your name. All you need do is produce that paper you have in your chest and as much or as little of that money will be turned over to you as you desire. And more is being deposited every month.”

Angharad shrugged her shoulders and threw up her hands in bewilderment. “But how? Who?”

“Fifty sovereigns were put there by the Order for your use, ten by the King. It was waiting for you when you arrived. As for the rest?  I suspect your cariad, Nathaniel, has been sending funds, but I could be mistaken,” Rywik replied.

“Why would he not send the coin directly to me?”

Rywik grinned. “You are thinking like a peasant, Angharad.  Nathaniel thinks like a noble. Sending coin is dangerous. It is tempting. It may be stolen along the way. Nathaniel knows that he can take coin to his post’s exchequer and give it to them. His exchequer sends a document to ours promising that amount of coin minus a small fee for the two of them and our exchequer gives you the balance. At some point during the year whichever treasurer owes the other more will actually exchange the balance in gold. Until then, it is all on paper.” Rywik laughed.  “I doubt it even occurred to Nathaniel that you would not know about these things. He has grown up with them.”

Angharad shook her head. “We have gone off point, Rywik. What about Nona?”

“Angharad, trust in your friend’s good sense. Nona is a survivor. She is an intelligent, clever, worldly woman who is also honest and loving. She is no victim. Nona will do well.”

Angharad was about to argue with Rywik when suddenly her vision went dark with a pinpoint of light in the distance, as the light grew closer, it grew larger. She looked around. In that instant her perspective shifted from where she stood to the musicians’ balcony. Angharad turned to find that she was near the musicians but not with them. Angharad made herself look down at her hands. Gloves? Not just gloves, but the sort Nathaniel wore with his armor. Armor but not guard armor. Suddenly, she was merely watching from within as someone drew the string on a crossbow with her / their feet.  As the crossbow was drawn up, Angharad was looking at the dancers from above, the dancers, the dancer, the crown, the queen, The Queen!

Angharad forced herself back to her own perspective and began to move forward through the crowd watching the dancing. She looked up, trying to find the person through whose eyes she’d been looking. Angharad looked over her left shoulder and caught the glint of metal gleaming from a shadowed space in the loft.

“WARE! ARMS! To the Queen, to the Queen!” She yelled, trying to reach the Queen, but she was too late for Alistair had already pushed the Queen to the floor as the quarrel whizzed by her by inches and embedded in the wooden trim beyond. Alistair was alert, drawing the only weapon he had, a large ceremonial knife at his waist.

Dancers scattered everywhere. Men yelled and women screamed. The guards moved forward toward the royal couple.

“The Loft!” Angharad cried out, but she scanned the crowd for other assailants.  Nathaniel had taught her that a professional assassination often involved more than one assassin.  She saw a woman moving through the crowd, not away from the danger, but toward it, and in her hands were knives. Angharad started after her but just before she could engage the woman with her blade, both of them were blasted into the air and then to the ground by a wave of pure energy. Angharad struggled to her feet, looking for the mage who had cast the spell. She spotted another woman, this one dressed in a robe of power. But the mage was trapped in some sort of spell that held her upright. The mage screamed as though invisible force were pushing on all sides of her body. She glanced at Rywick, saw his concentration as he held the assassin mage in the grip of his crushing spell. In seconds, Angharad saw blood begin to run from the mage’s nose and mouth. She stopped screaming.  

Angharad looked for the woman with the knives. A shimmer of light warned Angharad that the woman was stealthed. Angharad dropped to the floor and rolled as best she could, hampered by her dress. It was enough so that the assassin missed the backstab she meant to administer to Angharad, but she was more than ready when Angharad managed to get back on her feet. She quickly unsheathed her own knife to face her opponent, but her mind opened at that moment and energy flowed from her, a blue stream that gathered around the woman.

The assassin felt it as well, for she suddenly threw her left-hand blade at Angharad. Angharad managed to move quickly enough so that she only took a nasty cut to her right cheek. Fortunate, for the blade had been aimed for her throat. Angharad watched in horrific fascination as the blue stream of energy sucked the life force out of the woman’s body.  As the woman slumped, so did she, drained and weary, though her heart pounded in her cheek.

Angharad looked around the room. There had been three, no, four assassins. One lay dead at Alistair’s feet, neatly dispatched by the King’s dinner knife. The mage lay in a crumpled heap across the hall. The woman was dead as well, drained dry, a desiccated husk. “Where’s the bowman?” Angharad managed to whisper. 

Rywik pointed to a bloody splash on the wall in the musician’s loft. “There’s what is left of the bowman,” He told her. “No threat any longer.” Rywik was near Angharad now, taking her face in his hands, turning her head so that he could see the cut. He began to murmur arcane words of healing softly and the power began to flow from him to her. Sustaining energy flowed into her from him reviving her but also causing strange sensation in her cheek.  Not heat, not cold, but something else, and after a moment, it itched. Angharad recognized that feeling. It was the itch of new healing flesh. Rywik ceased his incantation, but he before he dropped his hands, he said, “Nathaniel would have been very proud of you this night, Angharad.”

Then he moved to Alistair and the Queen. Alistair was already helping Anora to her feet. “Any wounds?” He asked the Queen.

“Only my bottom,” Anora said calmly.  “I doubt that a bruise on the arse requires healing.”

Alistair, in a voice that carried the hall, said. “Guards. No one leaves the palace, see to it now. Cover all exits. Run.” Men from the palace guard took off double time to carry out the King’s orders. Then Alistair knelt beside the body of the assassin he’d run through with his dinner knife. Rywik did as well. Alistair said to his friend. “Antivan Crows by the look. That means someone with enough coin to afford Crows.”

“Orlesians? Someone in the Free Marches who isn’t happy with the raiding wars?”

Angharad shook her head. “No, Your Majesty. This is something more personal. You were wise to seal off your entrances. Let us hope that whoever paid for this wanted to stay and watch. Call everyone into the hall, everyone who has enough money to hire such assassins.” 

Anora was about to call Angharad to task for her impertinence, but Rywik said, sotto voce, “Anora, she’s good at this. Let her try before this whole thing gets out of hand.” Alistair caught Anora’s eye as well and nodded.

Angharad knew nothing of this for she was already scanning the room in her mind, lowering the barriers between herself and others, hearing the whispers, the murmurs, experiencing the feelings. Curious, curious most were simply curious, watching, interested, not involved, entertained. Angharad felt a little shaky, she was burning energy at a fast rate. Then, she felt power flowing to her and recognized Rywik’s essence in the stream of energy. As she walked around the hall, weaving in and out of the people, she felt, heard, and tasted their essences. Through her eyes she sought their auras. Curious, curious, interested, entertained, sad, sad, dark, sad, so dark. Angharad turned toward the source of the darkness. People hurried to get out of Angharad’s path as she moved closer to the source.

Finally, she stood in front of an older woman, dressed in a fine gown, wearing beautiful jewelry. The finery could not disguise her pain, her anger, and her madness. Angharad pushed open the door in the woman’s soul that she was trying to keep closed. Angharad stepped inside. She was standing in the courtyard of a keep that had been fired, all around her things burned, people screamed and ran. Everywhere there were soldiers wearing the Gwaren colors, bearing the Gwaren standard. Angharad saw a man, a girl, and a boy being dragged into the courtyard.  The man was dressed in armor, but sorely wounded. The lad, about thirteen, had a knife which was easily knocked from his hand. The little girl was younger, picked up and carried by one of the enemy men-at-arms. 

“You dare to defy King Loghain?” Someone shouted in her ear. Angharad tried to struggle but was being held by two soldiers. “This is what happens when you turn on your master.” Angharad watched in horror as the man was executed with a sword. His was a quick death. The boy and the girl were not so lucky. Angharad watched, sickened as their clothing was stripped away, she turned her head but could not stop the sound of the screaming from reaching her. Then, she felt her hair being pulled back at the same time she was being lifted off her feet by rough hands. Angharad pulled back, unable to witness further. Instead she looked at the woman with deep compassion.

“Come with me, lady.” Angharad said. “Do not try to harm her further. All that is left to you is bear witness to the truth.”

The woman nodded as the tears rolled down her face. Rywik came to Angharad’s side.  “We need privacy. This is not something the Queen will want the entire company to hear.” Rywik said.

Alistair announced. “The Queen and I will withdraw for a few moments lords and ladies. I suggest you use the time to find somewhere to sleep.” Alistair smiled as everyone tried to effect a nonchalant withdrawal from the hall as those who did not already have quarters went to speak with the castellan regarding a bed.

To the guards, Alistair said, “Bind the woman’s hands.” He then had the guard escort the woman to a private room with a sturdy door.

“Wait outside.” Alistair told them as he and Rywik took the woman into the room.

Angharad hesitated outside the door, but Anora turned to her and said, “Messer, inside.  I believe we’ll have need of you.”

The woman looked at the Queen. Angharad expected to feel hatred from her for the Queen, but there was nothing. Anora was merely the symbol that had to be destroyed. Nothing more, nothing less.

Angharad knelt by the woman that Alistair and Rywik had seated in an armless chair.  “Tell them, Kyra. Testify to the truth so that you may go to the Maker’s side in peace. Be a witness for their suffering.”

The woman’s eyes travelled from Angharad’s face to Anora’s. “My name is Kyra Illiuan. My husband was Bann Johanes, loyal vassal to Redcliffe and Highever….” 

Angharad watched Anora carefully as Kyra told the tale of her families’ destruction and degradation. Whatever Anora felt did not show in her face or her body language. Years of being at Court had trained the queen to hide everything.

“….I sold all that I had, all that was left, to purchase the Crows. I meant to take from the Queen’s father everything important that had been taken from me,” Kyra finished.

Anora ignored the woman and looked to Alistair. “So. No Orlesian plot, no Free Marcher lords hoping to gain from my death. Just a sad and silly woman who thought to kill me in revenge for my dead father’s crimes.”

A look passed between Alistair and Anora. Alistair opened the door and called in the guards. “Take this woman outside to the punishment yard and execute her. Make it quick. She has suffered enough.”

As the guards moved to take Kyra, she reached out to Angharad with her bound hands.  “Messer. Will I be with them again? Will they be well?”  She sobbed.

Angharad shook her head, fighting back tears. “I know not, Kyra, but I promise you, your pain will end. It is over.” Kyra’s eyes met Angharad’s and she nodded, rising from the chair and walking with dignity between the soldiers and out of the room. Angharad bit her lips to keep back the tears.

“Come.” Anora said, as she walked out the door and into the hall. “We must return to the hall and assure the company that the situation has been resolved.”

Angharad followed the others to the hall but held back before entering. She began to tremble as the terrible things the woman had suffered caught up to her and tore her heart open in sorrow. Suddenly there were warm arms around her and a familiar shoulder to lean on. “You mustn’t grieve for her, aderyn bach, her pain has truly ended now. She is at peace.”

“It isn’t fair, Rywick. It isn’t fair.”

“It seldom is, aderyn bach. Sometimes it’s damned unjust, All you can do is stand against it,” He told her, continuing to hold her until he felt her draw away. He stepped back and dropped his arms.

“Thank you,” Angharad said, strong enough now to enter the hall.

Angharad returned to the Teyrn’s retinue to offer the Teyrna her bedroom for the evening. Angharad started to speak but everyone just kept staring at her. “What? What is wrong?”

Nona came up to her friend, smiling.  “Your cheek cher amie, your cheek.  There is no scar. None. Neither a new scar nor an old one. It is gone.”  Nona hugged her.  “How brave you were tonight!”

Angharad’s hand slipped up to her face. The thin groove that had travelled her cheek for all these years was absent. There was only the feel of unblemished skin. Forcing herself back to the business at hand, Angharad turned to the Teyrna. “My lady, Nona and I have ample quarters that we might share with you and your ladies tonight.” 

Fergus Cousland walked up at this moment and kissed his lady’s palm. “Go with her my love. The King has called an immediate council. I doubt I shall see rest before dawn.” The Teyrn bowed his head to Angharad. “You are a credit to Amaranthine, messer.”

Angharad curtsied. “Thank you, my lord. Come, my lady,” Angharad said to the Teyrna, “Let us depart this madhouse and seek some peace.”

 Chattering among themselves, the ladies quit the hall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I am just now publishing this set of books in An Archive of our Own, I wrote this tale many years ago. I was shocked, watching GOT, to hear one of the characters use "little bird" as an endearment. Rywick often says it in "Avvar" (for which I use Welsh) Aderyn bach. Sometimes he calls her beautiful bird, "Aderyn hardd."


	5. New Recruit

Chapter Five  
New Recruit  
Nathaniel and his team had just returned from a bloody patrol. As they sat in the weapons room, repairing and re-edging weapons, salvaging arrows, and making new ones, the team joked and heckled one another about the mission. Pætur, Javier, Logan and Moshe were teasing Eneko, Mykyta, Hanzah, and Lilou about ending up in a mud hole. They’d been moving forward toward their target on a moonless night, and the ridge line Lilou, Mykyta, and the others had been following gave way causing them all to slide down into the stream below, with the resultant splashing. They’d been forced to regroup and lost the element of surprise, but they’d managed to complete the mission without serious casualties. The unfortunates had spent that entire fight loaded down with about five pounds each of extra mud caked from head to toe.  
“I tell you, Lilou, the mud brings out the color of your eyes. You should wear it more often!” Pætur teased. “Unlike you, Hanzah just looks sad in brown.”  
“Shut-up, Pætur.” Moshe said as he ran the wet stone expertly down his blade. “I am sick of mud in any form; and once I sharpen this knife, I plan to go the inn, get a bath, and get drunk. Anyone wants to come, fine by me.”  
“Ayah.” Logan nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”  
Nathaniel walked into the weapons room and his squad rose, but before they could snap to attention, he waved them back down. “At ease. You will be pleased to know that you have a forty-eight-hour liberty, beginning now. Enjoy, all of you. I expect to see nothing of you until two days hence. Please get your ruddy arses out of my weapons room and to the inns and taverns forthwith.”  
“Ayah.” Lilou and the men rose, put the tools away, and hurried out of the room.  Nathaniel watched them leave, satisfied that they were forging an excellent team. Nathaniel took their place as he tended to his own weapons. After examining his knives, however, he decided that one of the blades would need the attention of the blacksmith, so he rose and walked outside to the forge. He was in deep conversation with the smithy when one of the younger recruits came running up to him.   
“Squad Captain?”   
Nathaniel looked up from the blade.    
“Messer, Warden Commander wishes to see you in his office.”  
“Thank you, recruit,” Nathaniel said, rising to his feet.  
Nathaniel walked to Stroud’s office and knocked on the closed door.  
“Enter.”  
Nathaniel snapped to attention.  “You wanted to see me Commander?”  
Stroud looked up and smiled.  “Sit, Squad Captain.”  He waited until Nathaniel got comfortable. “Nathaniel, I know how hard you have worked to achieve an excellent synergy with your team.  I am afraid I must ask you to upset that balance, at least for a time.”  
Nathaniel stiffened but said nothing.   
“As you know, I led a team into the Deep Roads north of Kirkwall recently. With the darkspawn beaten back for a time, thanks to the Hero of Ferelden, Etienne Caron, and you, we thought it an excellent time to explore the Deep Roads further, add to our maps and try to go deeper. We were perhaps a half day from the surface when an old comrade of yours caught up to us. The mage, Anders, along with three other companions approached us.  One of their companions, a young man, had been tainted, and Anders asked that we recruit him.”  
Nathaniel tried to keep his face still, but clearly some of his surprise showed through for Stroud said, “Yes, I know, not something I would ordinarily do. We do not recruit out of the pity, but the young man had held off the Blight for some days. Anders vouched for his prowess. and his sister, who appeared to be an apostate mage, assured me that he was worth saving. She and Anders were most persuasive; however, it was their family name that tipped the balance. The mage’s companions kept referring to her as Hawke!”  
Now Nathaniel did let his feelings show!  “Hawke?  As in Malcolm Hawke?”    
Stroud nodded. “Although I could not be certain at the time, I subsequently discovered that the lad is indeed Malcolm Hawke’s son. He does not have magic, but his sister is definitely a mage, and untainted.”  
“So; having a brother in the Wardens might be an incentive for her to help us in the event we need her magical abilities,” Nathaniel reprised.  
“Exactement! The young man survived the joining, even after being tainted for some days. That speaks to his constitution, Nathaniel. I want you to evaluate his skill and his temperament.”  
“Would it not be better to put him into a regular unit? Let the other wardens sort him out?” Nathaniel asked.   
“Perhaps. But Carver Hawke was not born a Free Marcher, although his mother’s blood is here. He comes from Lothering in Ferelden. You understand your countrymen better than I. Take his measure, see what his is made of, and we will decide how best to use him,” Stroud ordered. “Dismissed, Squad Captain.”  
Nathaniel rose, saluted and left.  He would have argued the issue with Etienne Caron, but Stroud was another matter. It was better to simply do your best with what he commanded you to do. Nathaniel walked across the yard to the infirmary. As he entered the building, the stench made Nathaniel think of how much they could learn from Angharad with regard to cleanliness and good wound healing. The men who were awake sat up a little straighter as Nathaniel came through the door. He already had a reputation as a brilliant field commander, and many of the wardens would have cut off an appendage to join his group.  
Nathaniel found the surgeon and learned from him which sleeping man was Carver Hawke.    
“Is he fit for duty?” Nathaniel asked his caregiver.    
“Light duty, Captain. He was very near death when he took the joining. Made it through, but he’s still recovering his strength,” The physician said.  
“Very well. Dismissed,” Nathaniel replied.  
Nathaniel walked over to the bed where the young man was sleeping. Nathaniel decided the man couldn’t be much more than twenty, if that. Dark haired, good features, well structured for a warrior. Nathaniel noted the strong shoulder muscles and the thick neck. The young man, for he was no longer a lad, was used to wearing heavy armor. So, he wielded either a sword and shield or a two-handed sword most likely.  Scars on the man’s arms indicated that he’d seen battle a time or two. Nathaniel also saw the fading signs of the taint. Clearly the joining potion and the man’s own good strength was beating back the disease and holding it in check. Nathaniel did not wake him. That would wait until his squad was back from their liberty in town.  
Nathaniel returned to the physician. “Can you keep him are until morndas? I would prefer to have him at leisure here in the infirmary rather than in the barracks.”  
“Yes, Captain. Of course. The two additional days will do him good.”  
“Very well, carry on. I’ll be back for him soon.”  
Two days later, an hour before dawn, Nathaniel went back to the infirmary and once more stood next to Carver Hawke’s cot. With a hard shove of his boot, he pushed Carver’s cot over, dumping him on the ground at the same time he yelled, “Andraste’s Ass, boy, what are you doing sleeping?  Get yourself up and dressed on the double!”   
Nathaniel noted that the man was quick to respond.  He was up on his feet and in fighting stance before he had truly even come awake. Once he was awake, the man snapped to attention. “Yes, Commander.  Immediately, Commander.”  
“I’ll be outside, sprog.  Don’t keep me waiting,” Nathaniel growled.   
Once Carver appeared at the door with his things in hand, Nathaniel walked him over to the squad barracks.  His team was just rising. As he walked through the door, they snapped to attention. “Squad!” Nathaniel proclaimed. “This is our new sprog, Carver Hawke.  May I remind you that as a sprog, he is the lowest of the low, the meanest of the mean and will be taught to overcome these deficiencies by you all so that someday we may address him as “Warden.” Nathaniel announced.   
“Find him a bunk, and a chest and then get his lazy arse out on that practice yard in three minutes. All of you have been lying about with whores and strong drink and are useless to me in your present state. Let’s work all that alcohol out of your systems and return you to the pristine state of darkspawn killers extraordinaire.”   
“Ayah!” The team shouted, coming to attention once more.   
Nathaniel left the room and Mykyta turned to Carver and grinned. “Welcome to hell-all, Carver Hawke. May you enjoy your stay here.”  Mykyta pointed out the bunk farthest away from the door. “That’s yours. Get your gear stowed and get out that door on the double. He’ll flay you alive if you are late, sprog!”  
Carver did as he was bid. He knew better than to show it, but this felt like coming home. He had been through boot camp in Cailan’s army. He knew what to expect. He almost grinned.  
As soon as everyone made it outside, Nathaniel called them to attention. Once they were all at attention, he started in on Carver. Nathaniel got right in his face and shouted. “Sprog! Why are you not in uniform?”  
“Messer, this sprog does not have a uniform, messer.” Carver said, taking care not to break attention and care not to look Nathaniel in the eye.   
“What? You had two days to acquire a uniform. Did you think this a palace with servants who would bring you whatever you needed?” Nathaniel yelled in his face.  
“Messer, no messer.” Carver replied in a loud voice.  
“Then you will give me ten pushups immediately sprog, and then you will procure yourself a uniform, is that understood?” Nathaniel shouted.  
“Ayah, messer. Understood, messer.” Carver replied, dropping to give his ten pushups, before running off to find the armorer.  
Once Carver was out of earshot, Nathaniel signaled for the others to relax. “Dismissed. Go. Eat.”  
As they all sat down to eat their bread, cheese and ale, Nathaniel looked around the table at his squad. “Well, what do you think?  Regular army perhaps?”   
They all nodded. “He’s been through the grinder before, I think,” Logan said. “Where’s he from?”  
“Ferelden refugee, I’m told, but he’s related to some family in Kirkwall,” Nathaniel replied.   
“Then it is obvious. He must have been at Ostagar,” Moshe said.  
“Why is that obvious?” Nathaniel asked as he tore off another piece of bread.  
Moshe shrugged. “Simple. If he served Redcliffe or Gwaren, he’d still be in Ferelden or dead. No, I’ll wager a silver that he was with Cailan at Ostagar.”  
“I’ll take that wager,” Javier said. “He may have deserted someone else’s army.”  
“We shall see, “Moshe replied, he downed the rest of his ale, and stood up. “Time for practice.”  
Carver found the armorer who provided him with a uniform.  Fortunately, it fit him well-enough. Even the standard issue boots would do for him. He was in the practice yard in plenty of time to satisfy the rest of the squad. Nathaniel watched him move through a set of exercises for a two handed-sword, some of which he’d seen before and some which were new to Nathaniel. After watching Carver for a while, he warmed up himself and then took a two-handed practice sword down from the weapons rack and threw a second one to the new recruit.  
“Come, sprog. Show me what you’re made of.” Nathaniel brought his sword up. Carver advanced, his sword held in a high ready position—tricky unless one were very proficient with the weapon. Nathaniel tested. As fast as he was, the young man was faster. Nathaniel barely had time to counter before Carver brought a second attack, this one striking a good solid hit that would have wounded. “Ah, not so clumsy as I had feared, “Nathaniel shouted. “But surely you have more than that in you?”  
Carver couldn’t help it. He grinned. He’d just spent the past few months in the company of the best two-handed swordsman he’d ever known. Carver had watched, imitated, and learned.  In three swift moves he put Nathaniel on his back and had his own sword to the Captain’s throat.  He backed away, afraid that he’d angered the Squad Captain, but Nathaniel smiled broadly as he got to his feet.  
“Andraste’s Flaming Knickers, where did you learn that move?”  Nathaniel asked his sprog.    
“Messer, I learned it from an elf, messer,” Carver replied.  
Nathaniel’s eyebrow shot up in disbelief. “An elf?”  
“Messer, runaway slave from Tevinter, messer. Was a bodyguard to a Magister there.”   
“He show you anything else, sprog?”  
“Messer, I learned a few things watching him, messer.” Carver replied.  
Nathaniel laughed. “You’d better show me then.”  He said, bringing his sword up once more.  As Nathaniel and Carver sparred, someone went to fetch the sword master, who asked to take Nathaniel’s place in the yard.  Others came to watch.  Carver had a more difficult time with those whose weapon of choice was a two-handed sword, but he still bested most of the opponents.  He began to look a little pale, and Nathaniel remembered that the man was still recovering from his joining.  He called everyone in for a rest.  
Carver gave him an unguarded smile.  
“Don’t look so happy, sprog. Everyone in my unit has to use a bow and arrow.” Nathaniel said. “Better find one and start practicing. By the way, where did you serve before this?”  
“Messer, I was in King Cailan’s army, Messer.  I was at Ostagar,” Carver replied.    
There was a cheer from Moshe who had just won his bet.   
“Ah, by the time we managed to evade the darkspawn and get north, Lothering was under attack, and I had to help my family flee.”  
“You and yours are lucky to be alive, Recruit Hawke. Few made it out alive from that battle.” Nathaniel said.  
In the weeks that followed, Nathaniel evaluated his new man. With the Blight having just ended a year or so ago, the darkspawn population was reduced, but not gone. The Wardens went out to patrol areas above ground where darkspawn had been sighted; or, if there had been no reports, into the Deep Roads to whittle on the darkspawn population and push them deeper underground. Carver fought well in every engagement. He was courageous in battle, but not foolhardy, and he instinctively knew how to draw the enemies’ attention to him while the rest of the team attacked from stealth and with artillery. He would, in truth, be the perfect Grey Warden were it not for the gigantic chip he carried on his shoulder.  
Nathaniel recognized the cause. He was the eldest child with two younger siblings who had been forced to live up to Nathaniel’s achievements. His sister had done well enough with the pressure, but Thomas, his brother, had not. Though it was not Nathaniel’s idea to be compared to his siblings, he still felt guilty every time Thomas had been called to account for not being as good as he was. Nathaniel listened to the talk between the squad without comment, until one evening at camp.  
“I’m sitting here because of my sister.” Carver said as they huddled around the light of the fire. “I came into the Deep Roads because of her.”  
Nathaniel had had enough. The man had been blaming his sister for just about everything, including bad weather. Nathaniel had been leaning against his bedroll, but he sat up.  “Let me understand you. Your sister drugged you, tied you up, and dragged you into the Deep Roads just so that you would become tainted.”  
Carver, startled that Nathaniel was even listening said, “No, of course not.”  
“Oh, then she had some terrible secret she held over your head and blackmailed you so that you were forced to come to the Roads?” Nathaniel asked in mock puzzlement.  
Carver, realizing that his squad leader was rather put out with him, merely shook his head.  
“Then why did you not tell your sister no?” Nathaniel asked.  “What terrible thing did you sister do to you to make you go?”  
Carver looked into the fire. “My mother wanted me to stay, but my sister said she needed me.”  
Nathaniel nodded. “That is terrible! Your sister valued your ability as a warrior so much that she told you she needed your talents on the expedition to the Deep Roads. Truly a heinous act on her part. But you could have declined. I am certain that your sister would have found someone else to go.”  
Carver was beginning to be a little peeved himself. “And your point, Messer?”  
“My point, boy, is that for whatever reason, you chose to accompany your sister on the expedition into the Deep Roads. You chose. Blaming your sister for your misfortune is a child’s ploy, not a man’s. Men take responsibility for their action or inaction. They don’t blame their unsatisfactory lives on someone else.” Nathaniel looked Carver dead in the eye and said, “Instead of crying about how your sister made you do it, you should sit down and discern why you made yourself do it.”  
Nathaniel waited for Carver to explode.  He had pushed pretty hard, and he knew that the younger man was angry. But to his surprise, Carver said, “I was looking for some way to step out of her shadow. My elder sister is a very talented, very bright woman who has been and always will be the best and brightest of our family. Her goal in going to the Deep Roads was to secure enough money to buy back our inheritance for our mother’s sake. I wanted that too, not for the money, but so I could leave with a clear conscience that they were safe.”  
“And did you succeed in that goal?” Nathaniel asked. “Do your mother and sister now have the inheritance? Do they have enough money?”  
Carter nodded. “Yes. Yes they do.”  
“And here you are, among people who have never met your sister, who do not know her name and will never compare you to her. I would say you achieved your goal. “So why are you complaining?” Nathaniel asked the younger man.  
Carver thought about it for a moment, and then it seemed to dawn on him that what Nathaniel said was true. He grinned and chuckled softly. “I take you point, Messer.”   
“Good. You aren’t as stupid as I’d feared,” Nathaniel said.  Then he looked about at everyone.  “Let’s turn in.” Everyone crawled into their bedrolls and looked for sleep.  
The remainder of the patrol went well, and Carver had reduced his complaining to a tolerable level.  When they reached the outpost, Nathaniel reported to Stroud. After he’d given the standard information about approximate darkspawn killed, Stroud asked him about the new recruit.  
“He’ll do well enough. He’s a fine swordsman, and a good soldier.  He needs to get over not being his sister, but I think he’ll manage that in time,” Nathaniel reported.  
“Do you want me to rotate him to another unit?” Stroud asked.  
“I’ll keep him, Messer. His combat skills are excellent, and growing up in a house full of mages, he has a healthy respect for their abilities without being panicked by them. I would suggest Templar training for him. It would be nice to have someone in the unit who could neutralize spell casters,” Nathaniel said.  
“Very well then. You may keep him, and we shall see about the Templar training in time,” Stroud said.  “Now, there is something else. I am sending you as an escort for a supply shipment for the Ferelden garrisons at the Vigil and Denerim. You will also shop for Ferelden goods that we cannot find here in the Marches. Finally, you will return with a very important shipment. The Denerim garrison will send you back with a vial of the archdemon’s blood.”   
Nathaniel’s years of training kept him from reacting to this unexpected and wonderful news. “When do I leave, Messer?” Nathaniel asked, as nonchalantly as he could.  
“In two weeks. You will leave from Kirkwall, travel to the Vigil, and from there go to Denerim. You will need to secure your own passage back from the Denerim port,” Stroud said. “Now, who do you want to command your squad while you are gone?”   
“Pætur, Messer.” Nathaniel replied. “He is very experienced, and a natural leader. This would be a good time to test his ability to command a squad.”  
“Very well. Make it so. You are dismissed, Squad Captain.”  
“Yes, Messer.” Nathaniel left.  
As he crossed the compound, he wanted to shout for joy! I’m going home! He thought. Angharad, I’m coming home.  
Nathaniel wrote letters to Delilah and to Angharad letting them both know that he was going to be in Ferelden for a time.   
-2-  
In the weeks that followed the unsuccessful assassination attempt on the Queen, Angharad was the center of unwelcome attention from the nobles who had witnessed that event. Most of them were simply seeking an advantage; they wished to be able to claim that they knew the woman who had saved the Queen’s life.  Whatever their reasons, Angharad found herself invited to a number of houses in Denerim for various social events. When she sought council from Rywik regarding this phenomenon, his response had been, “You must do as you will, Angharad. I cannot be your social secretary too.”  
Help came from an unexpected place. Angharad was ordered to the Queen’s apartments two days after the assassination attempt. When she arrived, she was shown into the privy chamber immediately. Anora was behind her desk. Although now in her early thirties, Anora ruthlessly maintained the figure of her youth through exercise and strict adherence to a limited amount of food. Daughter of the Hero of Riverdane, who was later executed for treason, Wife to the betrayed king and then wife to his half-brother, Anora had obtained and sustained her goal to rule Ferelden.  It had not been without cost. She would never have children, and she would never again know the touch of a man’s hand, for her second marriage was purely political by mutual consent.  
When Angharad began to sink into a curtsy, Anora said, “I believe we can dispense with that formality in private, don’t you? Sit, if you will, Angharad.” Anora waited until Angharad sat down and said, “I haven’t had the chance to thank you for saving my life. I also wanted to thank you for protecting my privacy in this matter.”  
“Your Majesty is quite welcome. I was glad to be of service.”  
“Yes. Well, I have sent a gift to your room as a token of my esteem,” Anora replied, touching her finger tips together. “I notice that you have been the talk of the Court. How does it feel to be a celebrity?”   
Angharad shook her head. “It is most uncomfortable, Your Majesty.  I come from humble stock. My parents were simple people. I know nothing of the nobility and its ways.”  
Anora stood up from her chair. “You would be amazed at how quickly one can assimilate. My father was a common man in his youth.” Anora walked to the window of her apartment.  “Before you decide that society is not for you, you should attend a few of the soirees first. If it remains uncomfortable, simply say little. Soon enough, the court will move on to the next Wonder of the Week.”    
“I shall consider it, Your Majesty,” Angharad replied softly.  
“I have one other question to ask you, Angharad. What can you tell me about your assistant, Nona du Lac?” Anora asked.  
Angharad hesitated. She did not wish to betray her friend’s confidence but she also did not wish to allow the Queen to form a poor impression. Finally, she said, “Nona is my friend. We met when I went to the Wending Wood to gather medicinal plants to replace those that had been destroyed at the Vigil during the siege. She was working at the camp, Your Majesty.”    
“I see. And is she a sensible woman?”  
“Yes, Your Majesty. Nona is quite sensible. She was the mistress of an Orlesian noble for some years and understands the ways of court life much more than I.”  
Anora nodded and turned around. “Then she will know enough to be discreet. Please tell your friend that while I do not care that my husband finds pleasure in another woman’s bed, I should not like to see him hurt, nor should I like him to be subject to public scandal. The King is a good man, and I am rather fond of him.” Before Angharad could reply, Anora added, “Thank you, Angharad. You may go.”  
Angharad rose and curtsied, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”  
Angharad returned to her rooms. She wished she knew what Nona was up to with the King. Then again, perhaps it was better not to know. Angharad changed from the fancy dress she’d worn to attend to the queen to a simple one made of dusty blue wool. She walked back into the main room of her quarters and noticed that there was, indeed, a small chest sitting on the table. Angharad opened it to find twenty sovereigns and a thin gold filigree circlet for her hair. There was also a note in the Queen’s own hand that said simply “Thank you.” It was sealed with the royal seal.  
There was a knock on her door. Angharad went and opened it to find one of the Palace Pages standing there. “Message for you Messer, from a man who said he would wait at the gate for an answer.”   
Angharad took one look at the handwriting on the note and went flying down the hallway. The Page had a difficult time keeping up as she ran past people as fast as her feet could carry her. Angharad’s skirt kept getting in her way, so she held it up and began to run faster through the antechambers and foyer. She reached the exterior courtyard of the palace and sprinted across the flagstones at full speed. The guards watched her curiously, but saw that she bore no weapon, wore no armor, so they left her alone. Angharad was running so fast that she almost fell down the stairs that led to the lower terrace, but recovered, and sprinted across the drawbridge. She saw him then. “Nathaniel!”  She screamed. “Nathaniel!”  
He barely turned in time to catch her before she was in his arms, hugging him tight, crying on his shoulder, saying his name. Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair so that no one could see the tears in his own eyes. “Angharad.” He whispered over and over as he held her close.  
Finally, Angharad was calm enough to lean back in his arm and look at him. “How did you manage to come to Denerim?”   
“You didn’t receive my letter?  Angharad, I sent you a letter telling you I was coming! I brought supplies for the Ferelden garrison. Some of the things needed to be stored here in our outpost here in Denerim as well. I will purchase supplies that we cannot find in the Marches and return them to Kirkwall.”  Nathaniel told her, brushing back her hair from her face. “Ah, lady, it is good to see you so well.”  
“How long can you stay?” Angharad asked, touching his face to assure herself that he was truly real.  
 “Only a few days, anam cara. Long enough to purchase the supplies and see them loaded on the ship.”  
“I see.” Angharad put on a brave face. “So, where are you staying?”  
“I have a room at the Gnawed Noble Tavern.”  
“And why are we standing here?” She asked him with a smile.  
 “Because I need to pay the page for finding you.”  
Angharad laughed at that. Nathaniel started to give the lad coin, but she said, “A little extra, please, love.”     
To the page she said, “Please tell Rywik that I shall not be in residence for a few days, but that he need not concern himself for my safety. And ask him to inform my friend, Nona.”  
”Yes, Messer,” The lad said, going back through the palace gates.  
Nathaniel kissed Angharad once more and then frowned. He ran his hand over her cheek. “Angharad. Your scar. It is gone,” He said softly.  
Angharad nodded.  
“But how?”   
“A long story, Nathaniel. And one I would prefer not to relay in public.” She told him softly.  
“Very well.”   
Angharad and Nathaniel walked arm in arm from the palace district to the markets and the tavern. Nathaniel ordered a bottle of wine and one of hard cider from the barkeep, and they went down the hall to his room in the Gnawed Noble.   
Once inside, Nathaniel turned to set the bottles down on the table. When he turned round again, Angharad was already out of her woolen surcote and was drawing her chemise over her head.  Nathaniel came close and ran his hand slowly down her naked hip. He started to say something, but she covered his mouth with hers as she kissed him.  All coherent thought left him as Angharad began to remove his clothing, kissing him in between each garment, caressing him as she uncovered another part of his body. She was down to his pants and boots, when he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Angharad watched him with pleasure as he removed the last of his clothing.  Holding out her arms to him, she sighed in contentment as he lay beside her.  
There was little love play between them. Both needed the reassurance of the act itself. Nathaniel entered her quickly, possessed her with great passion but little finesse. Angharad welcomed his eagerness, though it was painful at first. She understood his need of her, for it was her own need as well. They assaulted one another, in a desperate desire to reunite and become one again. Tears of happiness ran down her face as she held him in her arms.  
Once Nathaniel could speak, he said “I hurt you. I am sorry, anwylaf.” He rolled off her body and lay next to her, trying to regain his breath.   
Angharad raised up on her elbow so that she could see his expression. “I don’t care about that Nathaniel.  I only care that you are here with me.” She kissed his shoulder.    
Nathaniel stroked her now unblemished cheek and said, “Tell me about this.”  
Angharad told him about the assassination attempt on Anora, her part in stopping it, and the injury she sustained.  “Rywik used healing magic.”   
“Maker’s Breath! Angharad, why were you so reckless?  Antivan Crows are the most vicious assassins in Thedas.”  
“I did not know they were Antivan Crows, Nathaniel. I only knew the Queen was in danger.”   
“If I had known you were going to act as the Queen’s bodyguard, I would never have taught you those tricks.” He said, touching her cheek once more.  
“Nathaniel, you aren’t upset that Rywik removed the scar are you?”   
 “No. You were beautiful with the scar. You are beautiful without it, my love.”  
Angharad kissed him and nestled into his arms. She felt Nathaniel relax into sleep. Angharad signed contentedly and drifted off as well.  
Nathaniel woke a short time later and renewed his acquaintance with Angharad’s lovely body. This time he took great care to tease and caress her into an ardent state of readiness, something he loved to do. Angharad with strangers or when in company, was cool and reserved. In his arms, the in the privacy of their love making she became as wanton and wild as any man could dream of. She gave herself over to him completely when they made love, eager for his touch, eager to touch him. He loved to see her skin flush from pearl white to pale rose red when she was in the throes of passion. He loved it now as she made a soft sound and arched into him. Nathaniel cupped her hips and thrust deep, holding still so that he could feel her release. Nathaniel waited as long as he could and then he took his own pleasure for a second time. For the rest of the night they rested, made love and then slept again.  
At dawn, Nathaniel woke with a start. He sensed rather than heard the presence of someone else in the room. He pulled a knife from under the straw mattress on which he and Angharad lay. He turned his head at the same time he readied the knife in his hand. As he slowly sat up, he found an elf standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in leathers and carrying a staff. Nathaniel saw the tattoos around the elf’s eyes and knew who it was. About that time, the elf brought a finger to his lips, and motioned Nathaniel to follow him. He turned and left the bedchamber. Nathaniel pulled on his clothes. He strapped on his daggers as well.   
Nathaniel stepped into the small sitting room to find Rywik waiting there. “Rywik Surana, I presume. What brings you uninvited to my room? Is it for the same reason that you went uninvited into my father’s keep?”  
“I did not come to kill you, Squad Captain.  I came to discuss ein aderyn hardd.” Rywik said, keeping his voice calm. He did not mistake Nathaniel’s stillness for relaxation nor ease. On the contrary, it was only Nathaniel’s innate good sense that kept him from launching himself at Rywik, and Rywik knew it. He did not want to have to kill Nathaniel, but kill him he would if needed.    
“Nathaniel, I am here, not as your father’s killer, but as a fellow Grey Warden. In the name of our Order, I ask that you hear me out.”  
“What about Angharad?” Nathaniel asked nodding his head toward the door.  
Rywik shook his head. “I cast a sleep spell on our little bird. She will not waken for some time.” Rywik saw Nathaniel tense. “It will not harm her, Nathaniel. I seek to protect her, not harm her.”   
“Speak your mind, then mage. And then be out of here.” Nathaniel hissed.  
Rywik smiled. “You forgot elf! The insults work better in combination. I prefer mage elf myself but you may reverse the order if it rolls off your tongue more easily.” He studied Nathaniel’s face for a moment and then said, “I see that she was correct. You have no sense of humor. Very well, then, on to business.” Rywik sat down on one of the chairs.  
“When Etienne told me of Angharad, “Rywik began, “I agreed to train her gift for two reasons: Firstly, because the order needs healers; secondly, because I have never known a true Seer who was not also a mage. Therefore, I had to meet Angharad in person so that I could learn for myself what she truly was.”  
Nathaniel did relax a little then and took a chair opposite Rywik.  
“When I met her—no when I examined her—I found no indication that she had ever cast a spell nor knew of any.  But Nathaniel, the mana that she can command, that she can draw upon, is quite extraordinary. The question was always why? Why has she never drawn on the mana to change the reality around her?”   
Rywik stood up and began to pace. “I could not answer that question in the beginning, so I worked to help her control her ability to see the future, to cease to fear it. It took some time, but Angharad became comfortable with her gift. It is no longer a wild unruly talent but a well-honed skill. However, in training her Sight, I think I opened a door in her that was securely locked a very long time ago.”   
“Angharad has told you of the assassination attempt?” Before Nathaniel could answer Rywik continued, “Of course she has. You noticed her face. She told you how she came to be healed. Well, certainly she informed you that I cast a spell or two.”  
Rywik’s eyebrows rose a little. “What she does not realize is that I did not cast the last spell, if it could be called a true spell. No, Angharad used pure mana to completely drain her opponent’s life force away. She used her power as an infant does, without form, without conscious purpose. She thought it was my doing.  It was not. Angharad does not realize that she is what she is, Nathaniel. But she is a mage.”  
Nathaniel leaned forward. “I don’t understand. I thought all mages displayed involuntary expressions of their power as babies.”  
Rywik nodded his head and then shrugged his shoulders. “I am certain that Angharad did as well. I am equally certain that her parents, in an attempt to keep her from the Circle and the Templars, rigorously worked to suppress in their daughter any expression of magic she displayed as an infant and small child. Not cruelly mind you, but much as one trains a child not to bite her fellows or wet her small clothes.”  
Rywik sat back down again. “It is no wonder that her parents chose to travel the road instead of settle in one community. It would have been much easier to hide Angharad’s ability until they had taught her to suppress her talents. But they could not suppress everything. Her gift for scrying and the sight broke through from time to time. And now, Nathaniel we are here. The lock on her talent is broken, the door is opening, and soon every Fade creature in the universe will be aware of her.”   
Rywik leaned forward, his face grim, worry apparent in the furrow between his eyebrows. “Make no mistake, Nathaniel. This is a most dangerous time for her. I must make Angharad confront the reality of her situation; I must teach her how to use her ability; and Maker willing, if she does not fall to a demon during that time; I must harrow her.”   
“What is that? How will you harrow her?” Nathaniel asked.  
“The Wardens are not the only organization with secret ceremonies and trials, Nathaniel. Every Circle mage must pass and life or death trial at the end of his or her apprenticeship. The test is always the same; and in this instance, I will be the one to administer it. I will capture a demon in the Fade, and then, through the use of a great deal of lyrium, I will send Angharad through to either defeat the demon or to succumb to it.”  
In an instant, Nathaniel’s right hand was around Rywik’s throat. He leaned in, “You would do that to her?” In the very next instant Nathaniel found himself colliding with the wall so hard that he saw stars. Rywik stood up and walked over to Nathaniel.   
“You should know better, Nathaniel. I really did defeat an archdemon, you know.” Rywik told the other man. He held out his hand. After a long moment, Nathaniel took hold, and Rywik pulled him up onto his feet.   
“Now. Where were we? Ah,” Rywik murmured, “Yes, I would do that to her. Better for her and for everyone else. If she fails the test, she becomes an abomination. It is better that her first attempt be in a controlled environment with someone there competent to strike the killing blow quickly rather than have her trapped in her own body with a demon in control. If you get the chance, ask Anders what that is like. He knows.”  
Horror filled Nathaniel’s eyes. He’d killed abominations himself in the course of his duties. It had not occurred to him that a person was trapped inside that deformed body along with a demon. “Oh Maker! Why are you telling me this?” Nathaniel asked.  
“You love her, Nathaniel. And she loves you. She trusts you as no other person alive, and you must help me convince her to stay here, in Denerim, instead of leaving with you. Which is what she most wants to do.”   
For the first time that morning, Rywik allowed his compassion for Nathaniel’s situation to show. “You want her to live? You leave her behind; and, you leave her behind with no guarantee that things will be the same between you.”  
Nathaniel stroked his unshaven jaw as he considered Rywik’s words. He didn’t need the lecture on how Angharad might change. He knew all too well that people changed. His father had changed into something unrecognizable. “How do I know you are telling me the truth?”   
“Don’t be an ass. You know damn well I’m telling you the truth!” Rywik cocked his head to one side. “Ah, I think our beautiful bird is rising. Good morrow, aderyn hardd.”  
Angharad appeared in the doorway, dressed in her chemise, her hair unbound and falling over her left shoulder. “I’m not a bird. Why are you here, Rywik?” Angharad did not ask how he had found her. He was almost as capable as she of finding lost things.  
“Warden business. Court business. Does it matter? Nathaniel has leave to come to the Palace from both the King and the Queen.” Rywik took a sealed document from his robe and gave it to Nathaniel. “I have some supplies he will take back to the Marches. Forty-eight hours, Squad Captain. Be at the palace.”  
Rywik left the room.


	6. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad's training with Rywick comes to fruition with unexpected consequences for her relationship with Nathaniel.

Chapter Six  
Choices  
For the next two days, Nathaniel and Angharad roamed the City of Denerin, seeing all the sights, walking and talking about inconsequential things, eating at whatever tavern they happened upon, haggling in the marketplace, being together without thought of the future. In the afternoons, they went back to the Gnawed Noble Tavern, ate a meal together, and spent the evenings enjoying a bath before bed. The constant bathing was something of a scandal at the Gnawed Noble; the maids and servant men gossiped about it as they heated the water in the kitchen.    
For two days, Angharad and Nathaniel had the luxury of being a couple like any other. It was fine. There was little that Nathaniel could share with Angharad about his duties as a Warden, and little that Angharad could share about her time at Court. But they could share the small decisions of what to buy and where to go for this short time.

  
In their two days together, Nathaniel realized that the changes had already begun in Angharad.  She was less shy among strangers and surer of her opinions and desires, and it was clear from their conversations together that Rywik was giving her an education in the classics as well. She was reading great philosophers, histories, and mathematical treatises. As they ate meals together, Nathaniel found himself hard-pressed to argue a point he was attempting to make, because Angharad had read the counter-argument and was presenting it well. The peasant girl was no longer ignorant. Angharad was growing into her full capabilities in more ways than one. She was already proficient in at least three languages, Common Tongue, Orlesian from her mother, and her father’s Avaaran dialect. Rywik was adding Tevene as well.  Nathaniel in no way found this threatening. He grew up with an intelligent, educated mother and sister. It was enjoyable to be able to present an idea and argue it capably with a beautiful woman. Nathaniel was only sad that he had not been around to see it all in progress.

Angharad found Nathaniel to be warm, loving, lusty and eager to be with her. But she also felt an undertone of sadness as well. Angharad was tempted to probe Nathaniel’s thoughts and feelings as she used to do, but Rywik had taught her how to keep from invading another person’s privacy in such a fashion.  He’d also explained that entering someone’s mind and emotions without permission was akin to physical violence and just as dangerous. Angharad did not want to hurt Nathaniel in any way, and so she refrained. 

  
Rywik had taken the time to have some of Angharad’s things sent along to the tavern. It was a gesture that Angharad appreciated as she dressed in the prettiest gowns he’d sent, eager to have Nathaniel see her at her best. When he gazed on her with frank and open appreciation of her appearance, she was more than happy. But always his look of admiration would fade, replaced by an expression of grief, held firmly in check by long training in the disciplines of politics and martial arts that demanded a tight rein on feelings. After seeing this look again and again, Angharad could stand it no longer. As they ate supper together on the second night, Angharad finally gathered the courage to ask Nathaniel what was wrong.

  
“I will miss you, Angharad and that saddens me,” he replied as he sipped from his wine.

  
“Why do we have to be parted, then? Rywik has taught me everything he knows about the Sight, and everything he knows about herb lore. What is left for me to learn from him? I want to go with you to the Free Marches. I can do some good there. Surely your commander would welcome another healer.” She reached across the table to touch his hand but he drew it away.

  
“No.” Nathaniel said.

  
“Which is it, Nathaniel? No, the Commander would not welcome a healer, or no, I cannot come with you? Which?” Angharad asked him, troubled by the closed expression on his face

.  
“You may not come with me, Angharad. You must remain in Denerim until the First Warden gives you leave to depart for wherever he may wish for you to go. Tomorrow we return to the palace, and Rywik will no doubt have the supplies that I need to take with me ready. Denerim has a number of ships ready to sail for Kirkwall, so I will have no difficulty in booking passage immediately.”

  
“But what about us?” Angharad asked softly, her heart in her eyes.

  
Nathaniel looked from her face to his cup.  His jaw tightened a little and his expression grew grim. “Our relationship must come second to our duty, Angharad. Or at least my feelings must come second to my duty to the Wardens.” Nathaniel’s eyes met hers once more. His expression was closed, unreadable. “You know this. I told you this a long time ago. I am a Warden first. My first duty is to the Order. Always.”

  
Angharad put her hand over his two on the wine cup.  When he started to withdraw his hands, she said, “I won’t intrude, I promise. I remember what you told me and will trouble you no more.”

  
Nathaniel did not look up. He did not want Angharad to see the pain in his eyes. “Let us go to our room.” He said rising from the table.   
Without speaking, Angharad followed him.

  
Nathaniel made love to Angharad with a fierceness he had not expressed since they had been reunited three days ago. As he lay in her arms, Angharad pleaded, “Nathaniel, what is it? Why are you so sad?”

  
He whispered in her ear, “I thought you could tell everything about me, anam cara.”

  
She pushed his damp hair away from his face.  “I’ve learned how not to do that, Nathaniel.  It would be wrong of me to intrude on your private self, now I have the skill to prevent intruding.” Angharad kissed his cheekbone, his forehead, his jaw, his mouth and then leaned away from him. “I don’t need the Sight to know how sad you are this night. Any woman who loves a man learns to read his moods.”

  
Nathaniel turned on his side so that he could look into her eyes. “Is leaving you not reason enough to be sad?” He asked her quietly.

  
Angharad smiled and touched the whiskers he wore on his chin. “You’ve left me before, Nathaniel. This is different somehow. We both know that.”

  
Nathaniel nodded his head once. “Yes. But I am not at liberty to discuss it with you. So ask me no more and save me the sin of lying to you.”

  
Angharad snuggled closer to him and kissed his chest. “Very well. No more questions. Just hold me, Nate.”

  
Nathaniel pulled her close and they lay together, the sound of their breathing the only sound passing between them. In the morning they dressed quietly and packed their things. After a quick meal of bread, cheese and ale, they walked together to the palace district and across the drawbridge to the palace gates.  Nathaniel presented his papers to the guards. Angharad had no need to do so, for she was well known by the castle staff.  There were no instructions waiting for Nathaniel at the gate as to where he was to attend the King, so Angharad took him up to the private quarters to the space that she and Nona shared.

  
Nona greeted Nathaniel with a squeal of delight, a very enthusiastic hug, and a kiss on each cheek. In rapid Orlesian she proclaimed her delight in seeing him, how well he looked, how handsome he was. Then she began to bombard him with questions about the length of his stay. Nathaniel’s main response was a plea for her to slow down.

  
Finally, Nona was calm enough to revert to Common Tongue. “Nathaniel. You are leaving so soon?” She said after having ascertained that he was here to say farewell. “Why do they send you so far away?”

  
“C’est ainsi, Nona.” Nathaniel replied. He shrugged in a very good imitation of Etienne Caron. “C'est la vie.”

  
“Assez vrai, Nathaniel,” Nona replied.

  
“So, Nona, what is going on with you?” Nathaniel asked.

  
Nona gave Nathaniel a very wicked smile.  “More than you may guess, Nathaniel.  “And more than I am willing to tell.”

  
“Being naughty are we?” Nathaniel teased.  “I understand that the King is rather fond of naughty.”

  
“Nathaniel, I am shocked! You are making a joke, yes?” Nona retorted, laughing.

  
Nathaniel smiled.  “My mistake. It was beautiful and charming brunettes that the King is fond of.”

  
“You are the naughty one, Nathaniel.” Nona responded sternly, but the smile on her face gave her away. She was about to say more when there was a knock on the door.

  
Nona opened it to a Page who presented a note for Nathaniel.

  
Nathaniel broke the royal seal and unfolded the paper.  He read the note, gave the Page a coin and said, “Please tell his Majesty that we shall be there immediately.”

  
The Page left and Nathaniel turned to Angharad. “It seems you and I are to go forthwith to the west parloir. Do you know where that is, Angharad?”

  
“Yes. Leave your things, here Nathaniel. We’ll return for them.”

  
“Farewell, Nona,” Nathaniel said.

  
“Take care, my friend,” Nona replied.

  
Nathaniel tucked Angharad’s arm through his and they walked together down the long halls, the two staircases and across the length of the palace to the west parloir. Angharad found it odd that Nathaniel was being summoned to appear there as the west rooms were seldom used.  As they crossed from east to west, the crowds thinned out until there were only guards and a few servants.

   
Nathaniel noticed the lack of people as well and suddenly wished he had more than just his boot knife. There was a guard on that did indeed open the huge doors as they approached, but there was no major domo to announce them and no people inside except for Rywik and the King.    
Angharad felt the muscles tense in Nathaniel’s arm though his face betrayed nothing.

  
Alistair was on the dais, dressed in Templar Armor, his sword and shield strapped to his back. Rywik stood to the King’s left. He wore a robe of power and a mage’s hood, something he seldom did, for the only thing he hated more than robes were the stupid hoods that went with them. He too, was armed with a staff that glowed. Nathaniel instinctively stepped slightly ahead of Angharad and pushed her to his left, out of the way of his main hand and Rywik’s line of attack. He felt something cold on his back and realized that Angharad had just slipped a knife into the slit made in his clothing for just such a hidden weapon.

  
Nathaniel bowed returning to an upright stance as quickly as possible. Angharad curtsied. “Your Majesty.” They said, almost in unison.

   
Alistair raised an eyebrow. “So, you are Rendon Howe’s oldest child.”

   
Before Nathaniel could say anything, Rywik drew a glyph of paralysis, freezing Nathaniel to the spot where he stood. Then, with his staff, he let loose three powerful bursts of energy that slammed into Nathaniel’s body. Angharad could hear a bone crack. She screamed and ran for Rywik, but with an almost negligent wave of his hand, he cast Angharad to one side while walking up to Nathaniel. Nathaniel was still paralyzed and in agony from the broken left arm, but he was aware and could see everything. Rywik drew his own knife and quickly opened the vein in Nathaniel’s left arm.  The blood began to pour from the cut he’d made.

  
The glyph wore off, and despite the injuries, Nathaniel quickly drew the knife that Angharad had passed him. Rywik used his staff to hit Nathaniel’s jaw, knocking him out.  Nathaniel crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

  
Angharad had struggled to her feet and was now beating on Rywik’s back. “You bastard!  I’ll kill you, you bastard!”

   
Rywik pulled her around rather roughly, turned her around so that she could see Nathaniel, see the blood pouring out of his arm. “He’s dying, Angharad. He’ll bleed out in a matter of minutes. What are you going to do about it?”

  
Angharad dropped to the ground beside Nathaniel. She tried pressure on the wound but it was too long. Rywik had slit the vein vertically.  Even with her needle right here, it would take her too long to close the wound. “There’s not enough time! I don’t have my things!” She cried, tears running down her face.

   
“Then how will you save him?” Rywik asked again.

  
“I can’t!” Angharad rose to her feet and stared at him. “You heal him Rywik. You heal him, or I swear on the Maker’s name that I will kill you.”  
“No, I won’t heal him, Angharad. You’ll either save him, or he will die.”

   
“And how in hell-all am I supposed to do that! How am I supposed to save him?” She screamed.

  
Rywik cocked his head to one side. “You know, Angharad. You heard me speak the words when I healed your face. Speak the words and heal him. Cast the Spell!”

  
“I AM NOT A MAGE!”  Angharad screamed. “You heal him.” She demanded pointing to Nathaniel.  “You heal him!”

  
“Either you do it or he dies. I won’t heal him.  I let Isolde, Arlessa of Redcliffe, sacrifice herself to blood magic to save her son. It will not trouble me in the least to let Rendon Howe’s son die. HEAL HIM, Angharad, or he dies.” He pointed to Nathaniel, who had regained consciousness but was too weak from blood loss to stand. “You don’t have much time, he’s almost gone.”

  
Angharad, defeated, sank to her knees beside Nathaniel, heedless of the blood that stained her gown and her hands as she lifted his broken and bleeding arm gently onto her lap. Nathaniel was almost gone; she could feel his life force retreating. No time to be frightened. No time to panic. Think! Think!

  
“Love you,” Nathaniel managed to whisper.

  
Angharad closed her eyes and began to speak the words, softly at first and then with more emphasis. The air around her grew cool and then cold as she drew more and more energy from the atmosphere. It was like stepping into someone’s life, but instead, Angharad was stepping into Nathaniel’s body. Slowly, she could visualize the vein in his arm. She could see it, down to the cells that formed it. She saw the severed cells knitting back together, closing. Her hands began to glow white and then blue as the energy poured in a stream from her hands into his arm.  Angharad could hear Nathaniel’s beating heart, beating too rapidly as it desperately tried to pump the vastly diminished blood supply through his body. There wasn’t enough blood left in his body. Angharad imagined the blood that surrounded them on the floor. In her mind’s eye she saw the water being drained from the blood and being restored to him through her hands. She saw his body making new cells, new blood cells. She kept repeating the words. Now his heart was beating at a slower, safer pace; now she could turn her attention to his broken arm. As she touched the area of the break she had a vision of the fracture, clean, no loose shards of bone. She welded the bone back together, cell by cell by—Angharad started to sway, she felt dizzy. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped into a heap on the floor

.   
Rywik walked over to where Angharad lay, and checked her pulse; when he found it regular, he went to Nathaniel who was still lying on the floor. The blood, which had been a red pool, was now a dried brown substance. He took Nathaniel’s arm in hand. Angharad hadn’t just started the knitting process of the bone; she’d almost completely healed the fracture.  No wonder she fainted. He thought. He turned to Alistair.

  
“Alistair, find the guards and let’s get these two back upstairs.”  Rywik said. “I think Angharad’s managed not to become an abomination today.”

  
Alistair came down off the dais. “Maker’s Breath, Rywik. You didn’t tell me you were going to hurt him so badly. Were you really going to let him die?”

  
“I had to believe I would let him die, so yes. I would have let him die. Angharad would have known otherwise, and she would never have cast the spell.”

  
Alistair leaned down and touched the dried residue on the ground. “What in the Maker’s name is this?”  He asked, holding his fingers out with the brownish residue on them.

  
“Dried blood.” Rywik answered matter-of-factly. “She drew the moisture out of the blood and returned it to him. Clever trick that. Wish I’d thought of it.”  
Alistair grinned. “And here I thought you knew everything about magic!”

  
“Obviously, I do not.” Rywik said.

  
Angharad began to come to. She sat up, and when she realized where she was, she crawled over to Nathaniel and took his pulse. Satisfied that he was all right now, she struggled to her feet. She stumbled over to where Rywik stood. She looked him directly in the eyes.  Angharad swiftly slapped Rywik as hard as she could; she slapped him so hard that his head rocked to one side. Alistair made ready to rescue her, for Rywik was not one to take insult from anyone, but he merely turned back to face Angharad again. 

  
“I hate you.” Angharad told him softly. 

  
“I know.” Rywik said, expressionless. “But it doesn’t matter. You know what you are now, and what you are capable of doing. You will learn from me, not just to cast spells, but also to keep free from demons.”

  
“You really are a monster, Rywik.” She told him. Still looking at Rywik, she pointed at Alistair. “I suppose he was here to put me down if I became an abomination.”

  
“Alistair has never taken the vows, but he’s as good as any Templar at administering a sword of mercy to a possessed mage.”

  
Without another word, Angharad returned to Nathaniel’s side. Alistair went to get the guards. While he was gone Angharad looked up at Rywik. “Why did you take my innocence away from me?”

  
Rywik shook his head. “Not innocence Angharad, ignorance. Ignorance that would have killed you in time. Untrained mages rarely survive; they are lured and seduced by a demon sooner or later and become possessed.” 

  
“So, how have I managed to survive all these years?” Angharad sneered.  “Could it be that never having used my gift, I presented no lure to demons? Of course, now that has ended, given that you’ve forced me to display my power to every spirit in the Fade!”

  
“Believe what you will for now. It is a moot point. You are now no longer safe from the spirits who would use you. Accept the training I offer, or take your chances on your own,” Rywik told her coolly.

  
Alistair and his men returned to carry Nathaniel to Angharad’s room. Angharad started out of the room with them. At the door she turned to Rywik and said, “Leave me be, Mage. I have to consider what you’ve told me. I have to decide if you can be trusted, or if everything you’ve told me is a lie.” She walked out the door.

Alistair came to stand by his friend and comrade. “Oh Maker, that didn’t go so well!”

Rywik smiled. “Could’ve been worse. She might have killed you. She might have killed me. She might have let Nathaniel die. I’d say it went well enough. Now, we’d better send someone to clean up this mess before Anora has a fit!”

  
The two men walked out together.

  
§--§

  
Nathaniel regained consciousness.  He was lying in a very comfortable bed, surrounded by womanish things. Not the Gnawed Noble Tavern, he decided, but where?  He moved his arm and felt a twinge of pain there, looked at it and then remembered all.  He sat up and looked around the room. Ah yes, Angharad’s room. He realized. He got to his feet, flexed his arm. Not bad. A little stiff, but not bad at all. He went through some motions to loosen the muscles and realized that he felt pretty good, all things considered.

  
“How much did you know about what Rywik planned?”

  
Startled, Nathaniel turned to find Angharad curled up in a comfortable chair in the corner.  She stared at him as though a stranger.

   
“Angharad—” Nathaniel began, but she cut him off.

  
“How much did you know?  Did you tell him it was all right to risk your life in that fashion?  Anything for the cause? Anything to get the witch to use her power?” She demanded her jaw tight with anger.

  
“Angharad, I knew that Rywik planned to make you recognize your gift. I did not know that I was to be used to force you into acknowledging it.”

  
“So, you knew I was a mage, but you did not warn me.” Angharad replied as she uncurled from the chair.  “The Order, no doubt, demanded that you remain silent on the issue. And so, you let me walk into that room unarmed and unprepared for what I was to face.”

  
Nathaniel stood silent.  He had never seen Angharad so angry. It wasn’t the hot, blazing sort of anger that flashed bright and then ended. This was the cold, lingering sort, the place where long-held grudges are kept so they don’t spoil. Angharad bit her lips at the same time that tears began to fall from her eyes.  He started to walk toward her, but she put up her hand. 

  
“Don’t touch me.”

   
Nathaniel stopped in place.

   
Angharad looked away from him. “You seem well enough, now that you’ve slept. Get dressed, gather your things, and leave. Rywik’s apartments are across the hall if you need to see him. There’s no need to return here.”

  
“Angharad. What are you saying?” Nathaniel asked her, quietly.

  
Angharad turned back to face Nathaniel. Her expression was calm, still and without emotion. In a flat, dead voice she said. “You need to leave, Nathaniel. Go back to the Marches. Return to your Grey Wardens and fulfill your destiny there, but leave me in peace. I don’t want to know how you do. I don’t want to know where you are. I don’t want to know if you live or die. You are a luxury I can no longer afford, and I will have no more of you.”

  
He started toward her once more, but she put up her hand.

  
“Leave, Nathaniel. I can break your arm as easily as I mended it now.” Angharad told him quietly.

   
“As you wish, my lady.” Nathaniel told her with exaggerated courtesy. He even sketched a formal bow. Unhurriedly, he dressed, gathered his things and left without another word and without looking back.

  
He stepped across the hall to Rywik’s apartments to find the elf waiting for him. 

  
“She’s done with you, then?” Rywik asked.

  
“Did you use your powers to eavesdrop, elf?”

   
“I didn’t need to. Angharad is an intelligent woman, but in her eyes, you betrayed her. Her abilities were deeply hidden by her parents, no doubt by using shame as one of the goads to make her inhibit her gift. She is, among other things, deeply ashamed of being a mage. It is this that I must work to help her overcome. I cannot have her attention divided. She must be entirely focused on the task ahead, or she will fail.”

  
Nathaniel thought about it for a moment. In that light, Angharad’s cold fury made sense. And what Rywik said made sense as well. She was in danger, and she had to be focused to learn what she needed to know quickly enough to save her life.

  
“She hates you, even more than she hates me.” Nathaniel said with some satisfaction.

  
“No matter, for by the time I am finished with her, she will BE me,” Rywik said. “You must face it, Nathaniel, the Angharad you knew died in that room today instead of you.”

  
“I know that you have the skill to teach her, and that is the only reason…” Nathaniel forced himself to stop, but not before he added, “If she dies in your care, Elf, I will gut you,” Nathaniel hissed, cold hate in his eyes. “Now, Hero, you have something for me to take back to the Marches?”

  
Rywik gave Nathaniel five vials of archdemon blood, bound in a protective case that was cold to the touch. “Those are spellbound with a cold spell.  Don’t break the wards or the blood will spoil.” 

  
Nathaniel tucked the case away in the center of his duffle. He turned to go.

   
“Squad Captain, for what it’s worth, I do regret having to do this to you and Angharad.” Rywik said.

  
Nathaniel turned back around. “Do not lie to me, Hero. You want her. I see it in your eyes. Hell, I can smell it on you. Use your fine words to convince someone else. It won’t work with me. You’re damned glad to get me out of the way, and we both know it. I’d stay out of the Marches if I were you, Hero. No place for an elf mage there.” Nathaniel left the palace without another word to anyone.

  
§--§

  
The cold numbness of perfect denial sustained Angharad through the rest of her day. The apartments were quiet, for Nona was obviously somewhere with the King, and no one came to call. Angharad went to her workroom and distilled ingredients for potions until it was time to go down to supper. She debated which would be more bothersome, to deal with Rywik in the servants’ hall or all the fawning nobles in the great hall. Angharad decided that ignoring Rywik would be the easier task, so she went down to eat in the clothes she’d worn in the workroom.

  
Fortunately, Rywik must have been called to attendance on the King, for he did not appear at supper. The servants chose other tables at which to sit, and Angharad consumed her meal in isolation and silence. She went back upstairs and undressed for bed. Nona still had not returned, and it occurred to Angharad that one day soon, Nona would probably have rooms of her own. Angharad resolved to speak personally to the King about her friend. Someone had to make sure that the King provided for her Nona’s future. Dressed only in her chemise, Angharad lay down on the bed. She rolled onto her side to get comfortable and caught a scent. She reached for the pillow and held it to her face. Nathaniel had lain here; his smell was still here, lingering on the pillow. Angharad inhaled deeply once more. She began to sob. It was real, then. She had told him never to come back, never to write. The pain went deep, and she wanted more than anything for it to stop, but Angharad knew that it would not stop, ever.


	7. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad prepares for her Harrowing. Nathaniel and Carver go to the Wounded Coast to try and find the Deep Roads entrance. An unexpected event means meeting new people and reuniting old acquaintances.

Chapter Seven

  
Consequences

  
Angharad removed the chemise she wore and stood clad only in her small clothes as she studied the robe of power before her. It was a fine robe, fairly humming with enchantments and augmentations.

    
“Wear a decent robe of power. Knowing that you have one on helps you in the Fade.  Remember: It is your will and your beliefs that help or hurt your success in the Fade. If you will yourself to be strong, you will be. The demon will use your weaknesses against you to lure you into submission. It will play into your strongest desires or your deepest fears. Be ready Angharad.” Rywik had cautioned just yesterday.

  
Angharad felt ready. She and Rywik had worked diligently for twenty months to make her ready. It was strange that the person who had taken so much from her was the one to show her how to use this power that had been chained up inside her. Angharad had to admit, though, that Rywik was a gifted teacher who brought her from knowing nothing of how to cast a spell to being ready for the final test in a short, short time.

  
It had taken all of the Crown’s political power of persuasion with the Chantry, along with the fact that technically Angharad was a Grey Warden conscript and the apprentice to the Hero of Ferelden to allow her harrowing to be held away from the Tower Circle. Nothing made the Chantry more nervous than to have a mage running about in the Fade outside their direct jurisdiction. They had loudly protested the idea that Angharad could be adequately tested anywhere but the Tower. The Chantry reluctantly agreed that King Alistair could be the main one to administer the sword of mercy should it be necessary; but they insisted on having another Templar there as backup.  Rywik yielded to this without too much argument. “I trust Templars only a little more than I trust demons. Let’s hope I don’t have to kill him and blame it on demons,” He’d growled. 

  
Now, Angharad brushed her hair much shortened hair. After setting her hair on fire twice  with blow-back from poorly aimed fireballs, she understood why most mages dispensed with long locks. It was cut your own hair, or let a fire spell do it for you. She chose to cut. It was slightly shorter than Rywik’s, and he often said that, given her slight figure, all she needed was points on her ears to be an elf.  
The apartment was very quiet as she prepared. Nona now had her own suite of rooms. The night before she moved into her luxurious new abode, she and Angharad sat in front of the fire as they used to do, curled up in comfortable chairs, sipping wine and cider.   
A few days after her confrontation with Rywik—while the King was still consumed with guilt for the outcome—Angharad forced a conversation with Alistair about Nona’s future.  Angharad insisted that Alistair draw up an agreement that gave Nona lands that were hers in perpetuity from his own living so that she need never fear to be poor again.  

  
“I would have done this myself,” Alistair maintained, somewhat miffed that Angharad would think that he would not care for Nona’s future.   
“You would be like most men, Your Majesty, believing in your own immortality when in truth, you could be killed by falling bricks this very next instant.  Now, it will be done, and you need not think on it any longer. And my best friend will be safe from the financial misfortunes of life and free to make her own way should you part from one another.” Angharad said. 

  
Alistair did not protest further. He knew that Angharad was right. The lands were transferred to Nona that very day.

  
As she and Nona faced each other in the privacy of Angharad’s rooms, Angharad said, “Did you ever think that a day such as this would happen, Nona? And in such a fashion!  That you would become the King of Ferelden’s favorite?”

  
Nona shook her head. “No, I did not believe that such a thing would happen all those months ago. What is even more surprising is that her majesty, Queen Anora, also agreed and insisted. She told me that I was the perfect official mistress, and felt I should be rewarded.”

  
Angharad could only shake her head at this unusual course of events. Before she could say anything, Nona continued, “Angharad, tell me, what happened between you and Nathaniel?  You loved each other so much. How can you turn away from him now?”

  
“Love isn’t always enough, Nona. You know that. It is better this way,” Angharad said firmly.

  
“Better for whom?  How is it better for the two people it most concerns?” Nona asked. 

  
“Nathaniel is safe—”

  
“Safe?” Nona laughed. “How can Nathaniel be safe, Angharad?  He is a warrior, a Grey Warden. He will never be safe. He is a creature of risk!  He lives for the thrill of betting his life against misfortune! How could you come to this conclusion that you could make him safe? Mon créateur!  You cannot protect him. He is man who will not live a life of safety. You know this!”  

   
When Angharad began to cry, Nona took Angharad’s hands in hers and pulled her to the chairs. “Now. You will sit down and tell me everything, Angharad, everything!  What happened?”

  
Angharad told Nona about that terrible morning and how Nathaniel almost died.

  
“Merde! Quel salaud!” Nona cursed jumping up to pace the room.  “Rywik? He did this to you? And Alistair was there to kill you?”

  
“Not me, Nona.  An abomination. It would have been for mercy’s sake. The King would never just kill me.”

  
Nona paced some more and then sat back down. She took Angharad’s hands in hers. “Listen to me, Angharad. We only have this life and one time to live it. You must seize every instant of it, and squeeze it dry! You must not squander a single moment in fear, or worry for what may happen. To do so is a waste!  Do not let this stand between the two of you. Find a way back to Nathaniel, ma chérie. For your own sake.”

  
Angharad said nothing. She did not think she could ever make it right. Instead of answering, she said, “Tell me about Alistair, Nona. How does it go with you two?”  
Nona smiled. “Ah, Alistair is a very funny man, good sense of humor, no?  He makes me laugh. I make him laugh. We enjoy each other.”  Her smile grew wicked as she added.  “And he is very talented, shall we say?  He is surprisingly adventurous in bed for a Chantry boy. The queen does not know what she is missing, and I shall not inform her.”

  
Angharad giggled. Then she grew serious. “Does the queen mind?”

  
Nona shook her head. “Not at all. I think she still mourns for Cailan, despite his other women. She has not yet let go of him or her father. No, with regard to Alistair, the queen cares only for the appearance, not for the reality. I think she is happy not to have to try for an heir. If it were not for me, it would be a very sad situation. Alistair wants to be loved and to love someone.  He is a good man who deserves this, no?”

  
“Do you love him, Nona?” Angharad asked.

  
“Naturellement! I love him. He is easy to love. Why would I not love him?” Nona replied happily. “Oh. You mean un grande passion? Ma chérie, I am well past the moment for such things in my life, and Alistair is too busy being the King to go in search of it.”

   
Nona saw the look of sadness in Angharad’s eyes and laughed. “We’ll be all right, amie.  I am happy. Alistair is happy. Anora is happy. It is good. Oh, and thank you for insisting that the king provide me with a living of my own. You are a true friend.”

  
“He told you?” Angharad said, amazed that Alistair would admit to the conversation.

   
“Alistair tells me many things. Many things. It is good. Now he will know that I am with him for himself and not for the dresses he gives me.” Nona pulled Angharad to her feet and they had gone down to the great hall to have supper. More than a year had passed since that conversation, and Nona and the King still seemed very happy with their arrangement. Angharad was satisfied. She was glad that they could take happiness where they found it.

  
Now as Angharad prepared for the harrowing, the apartment seemed very empty. She stepped into her shoes, smoothed the robe, put on the hood that went with it, and walked across the length of the palace to the parloir in which she’d stood so long ago. It is fitting to come full circle, she thought as she halted at the large double doors. At least this time, I know what I am about to face. She took a deep breath and stepped through the doors.

  
In the middle of the empty room stood a small brazier filled with a blue glowing substance. Angharad recognized it from her studies as distilled lyrium. It was a large quantity of lyrium. Rywik stood by the brazier, and Alistair stood behind him dressed in Templar armor once more. Angharad now knew that the armor was enchanted to withstand a great deal of magic, reducing the power of any spell she cast. Next to Alistair was another man that she did not recognize, but one who also wore the armor of Andraste and bore the shield of the sword of mercy. 

  
Angharad bowed to the King and nodded her head toward the stranger before turning her attention to Rywik. He wore a very ancient robe of power, one of Elven designr.  She did not recognize the runes traced on the skirt of the robe but they gleamed and hummed with enchantment. Instead of a hood, he wore a circlet of some material she could not identify. It was wood, but very dark wood. Perhaps ironbark. It bore intricate carvings, and it looked to be as old as the robe.

  
“Angharad, every mage who is trained in the way prescribed by Andraste must face this final test. It is known as the Harrowing, and you must pass the test or die trying.” He pointed to the brazier. “You need only place your hands in the bowl. The lyrium will do the rest.”

  
Without a word to any of them, Angharad stepped forward and plunged her hands into the lyrium. She was instantly filled with great power. Every cell in her body began to sing as the lyrium infused her. She felt a great rush like wind, but not, like sound, but not, and suddenly she was no longer in a room in Denerim. 

  
She was standing on the battlements of what seemed to be the Vigil. It looked very real but she could see the barest of shimmers, the smallest of variations that told her this was her imagining. Any doubt that she may have had that she was in the Fade left her as she walked down the narrow steps of the battlement and into the courtyard. Etienne Caron waved to her from one of the market stalls, and Helen smiled as she took water from the well and poured it into her buckets.

The Warden Commander walked over to her and smiled.  “You have done well, Angharad. Better than anyone could have imagined!  Your skill and your visions made the Vigil strong and restored the glory of Amaranthine. Only you could have done this!”

  
Too easy. I’ve done nothing to deserve such praise, and the Commander would never praise so effusively. Angharad shook her head. “You must do better than that, demon.”

  
“We are all so proud of you, Saga. You have done so much and come so far.” Helen added, coming closer. “Now we can all go out to the rest of Ferelden and bring your knowledge and wisdom to the people.” 

  
Even as she told herself that these were spirits, that this was not real, she could feel the pull, the growing need to believe the dream they were weaving. She mentally shook herself awake and cried, “Leave me, demons! I have done nothing like what you have said. You are demons of prid, and you seek to seduce me with deeds I have never performed.”

  
“Angharad, you know….”

  
“I said Leave Me!”

  
“Not that simple!” Etienne said, changing from the man she knew into a hideous demon much taller than she. “If you will not carry me out of the Fade, then I will consume your spirit instead.”

  
Angharad began incanting under her breath. As the power gathered within her she made a hand sign and cast a spell on the demon that enfolded him in bands of energy, crushing him slowly as they drew together. Held immobile by the spell as damage was done to its spirit, the demon roared with anger and pain. Angharad used the time the spell gave her to draw heat energy out of the demon’s body causing cold damage, immobilizing him with frost. She focused her thoughts and drew on her inner reserves, charging the air around the demon, forming a cloud over him filled with moisture. As she ripped her hands apart and slammed them back together, the cloud unleashed a blizzard of subfreezing cold and ice and snow, howling around the demon, knocking him to the ground. Angharad saw the demon shudder and then lie still. The blizzard dissipated slowly leaving a frozen corpse lying in front of her.

   
Too easy. She thought to herself. She looked around the courtyard and saw that the other spirits were backing away, giving her space. Angharad walked to the weaponsmith’s stall.  Hanging there on a rack were weapons and staves. Angharad took down a staff and in her mind imbued it with the runes she desired. As she opened her eyes, the staff was no longer plain wood but one that held a wicked metal circle imbedded in one end and a crushing knob at the other. Sing, she told the staff in her mind and the staff began to glow, the runes she had imagined lit up with blue fire. Angharad knew where her real test would lie. She climbed the stairs to the old solar where she and Nathaniel used to lie together. With a deep breath, she pushed open the door.

   
Nathaniel turned around, smiling and holding out his arms.  “I knew you’d come anwylaf,” He said.  “You’ve cut your hair!”

  
He looked so real!  Nathaniel to the teeth, every expression perfect, every nuance in his voice. Angharad’s insides twisted, and she bit her lip hard. “Leave me, demon.” She whispered. “Leave me be.” 

  
Nathaniel stepped closer, his voice lowering, growing more intimate. “You do not want me to leave you, Angharad, you know you don’t. We can be together always in this room, or we can step out into the world and be together always.” The demon touched her neck. His touch was so much Nathaniel’s that she trembled. For a moment she wished to give in and just stay. She could have Nathaniel back. She could have him forever she could….I could die or be taken, Angharad told herself.   
Aloud she said, “You are not Nathaniel. Nathaniel is a Grey Warden sworn to the Order, and he must go where they will.”

  
“We’ll go together, love. Wherever they send me, you will go as well.”

   
He touched her again, and it felt so real, so right. It would be so easy, and she would have him forever…but, it wasn’t real.  
“They’ll never allow it, Nathaniel knows, they’ll never allow it.”

  
“Then, I will leave the Wardens for you, Angharad. Say the word, and we will leave together.” Nathaniel importuned.

  
Cold washed over her, through her. Nathaniel would die before he would leave the Wardens. She gathered her strength and shook off the dream, the beautiful dream of being with him again. “Demon, Nathaniel would never leave the Order.” Angharad replied, blasting with her staff, knocking the demon backward. Angharad cast a spell that encased the demon with stone. Nathaniel’s form began to waver with that of a desire demon. As the demon’s own powerful will wore stone wore away, Angharad again used cold and frost to hold the demon in place while she pummeled the demon with her staff.  Finally, the demon died and suddenly, the Vigil disappeared, and there was nothing around her but empty formless space. Angharad drew a door in her mind and stepped through it.

   
She was in the Palace once more, Rywik, Alistair and the Templar staring at her. “That was fast!”

  
“Not bad for a shemlen. I’ve seen better though.  My own harrowing was much cleaner.”  He added.  “How did you find your desire demon?”

  
Angharad shrugged and said, “Shut up.”

  
“I knew that it would be difficult for you to leave him,” Rywik replied, “but you are so cold-hearted that you could leave your own child behind.”

  
Angharad began to laugh and shook her head. “You are not my teacher. Rywik would never be so crude. He uses words like a sharpened blade, never to bludgeon. You are not he.  You are a demon of rage.”

  
The demon changed form and came close.  “I can give you the power to kill Rywik, you know. With my strength added to yours, you could stand over his dead body and gloat this very day!”

  
“I do not deal with demons.” She raised her staff, and the demon charged her. Again, Angharad used cold spells to immobilize the demon. The false Alistair and Templar attacked her as well. She used her mind to focus a blast of mana, to knock them both back so that she could be effective with the blunt end of her staff to focus and release bolts of spirit. She felt the rage demon thawing and whirled, quickly inscribing a glowing glyph of paralysis on the ground.  In one fluid movement she cast a hex of torment on the Alistair simulacrum, stepping into its consciousness and pulling pieces of its spirit body apart in her mind. Reaching down deep into herself, drawing up the last of her mana, she faced the false Templar and saw it as a whirling image of particles held together by energy. With an incantation and a burst of mana, she broke the molecular bonds that held the demon together, exploding it into a billion pieces. She drew the creature’s mana into herself and felt renewed. Whirling about, she scanned the area and saw the false Alistair preparing to attack. Drawing heat energy from the air around him, she froze him in place and then used the energy to bind molecules together in the form of stone, blasting it at the frozen demon and shattering him into tiny pieces.

   
Facing the false Rywick one more time, she started to gather her strength to blast it apart, but then she lowered her staff. “You will not tempt me demon. Rywick is my mentor, and you will not tempt me to harm him, even here in the Fade. Begone, demon, and tempt me no more for I will not falter. I banish you.”

   
With a scream of pain, the demon lost its shape and dissolved into the Fade. Dizziness overtook Angharad and she sank to the ground, unconscious.

  
When she awoke, she was in her room. Angharad sat up and looked around. She truly was back in her own reality this time. And she was alive. She swung out of bed and stumbled a little.

   
“Drink a lot of fluids today, but no alcohol. Using that much mana, even with the gigantic lyrium boost can dehydrate you.” Rywik said. He was sitting in the chair next to her bed.

  
“Watching over me, are you? Why?” Sarcasm laced her voice, made it harsh.

  
“Wanted to be certain that you came back completely from the Fade. Some do not return even if they don’t become abominations.”

  
Angharad looked at him. “And if I stayed there, dreaming, what would you have done?”

   
“Come after you, of course. We have too much invested in you to lose you to a demon of sloth.”

  
Angharad sat down on the edge of the bed. “So, my master, now what?”

  
“I am no longer your master, Angharad, for you are no longer an apprentice. Not that you know everything, mind.  In fact, you know very little.  But you know enough not to get eaten alive by Fade spirits, and that is all that you need to get started. Now the real work begins for you.”

  
Angharad frowned. “Real work?  Tell me of this real work.”

  
“Now you go to the Free Marches.” Rywik said.

  
***  
Nathaniel shook Carver’s shoulder. “Wake up, Warden.”

  
Carver sat up and stretched. He stared at the four walls that surrounded him and then inhaled deeply. The smell was unmistakable. “Andraste’s ass! This is the Hanged Man!” Carver said, then he grimaced as the pain set in. “Oh Maker, what a hangover.”

  
Nathaniel looked down at his subordinate. “Hangover or no, we have work to do. Get your own arse out of that bed and get dressed. We need to scout the coast for that opening to the Deep Roads. Stroud will be here with the rest of the unit in two days. We’ll need to have answers for him.”

  
“Right away, Squad Captain.” Carver replied, swinging out of the bed.

  
“Carver, we’re on detached duty. Call me Nathaniel or Howe. And no Warden armor.” Nathaniel stepped into the hall and went in search of a bucket to soak his head in. He had a bit of a hangover himself. He and Carver had taken an earlier ship ahead of the main unit. They were to try and find the entrance to the Deep Roads that Carver and his sister had used on their expedition. Carver had the general area nailed down, but the entrance itself was well camouflaged. Carver had explained that their expedition had some difficulty locating the entrance even with the maps and experienced dwarves searching the last time.

   
When he returned to the room, Carver said. “Nathaniel, perhaps you’d better have a look outside and see if there is a beardless dwarf dressed in an outlandish coat and showing a lot of chest hair.”

   
“Why?” Nathaniel asked him.

  
“Ah, his name is Varrick, and he was one of the brothers who initiated the expedition. And, he lives here.” Carver added for good measure.

   
“Andraste’s ASS! Did you not think it was rather dangerous to sleep at an inn where one of the people we most wish to avoid lives?”

  
Carver grimaced. “I was rather drunk by the time we decided to stay in town rather than camp. It was the only place I could think of. Sorry.”

  
Nathaniel started packing up his things. Clearly, they weren’t going to be able to stay at this inn. “Pack up, man. We’ll need to find another place to stay. Or perhaps we’ll just camp up the coast a bit after all.” 

  
The two men packed up in silence and left the inn.

  
***  
Nathaniel and Carver spent two rather unproductive days trying to find the hidden entrance to the Deep Roads. Neither one of them even felt the presence of Darkspawn so they could not use their sense to help them locate the entrance. Aside from slaying a few bandits who tried to rob them, it was a most unproductive trip.   
The second morning they dressed in their uniforms as they were to rendezvous with Stroud. As they neared Kirkwall, the saw smoke rising from the City and soon heard faint shouts and screams.

   
“What in the Maker’s name is going on down there?” Nathaniel asked.

  
Carver pointed to the Docks and the Qunari compound. “It looks like the Qunari compound has been fired. My guess is there’s been some sort of trouble between them and the zealots who want them out of Kirkwall.”

  
Nathaniel shook his head. “Look!  See the pattern? You can see where the fighting has happened. That’s not an unplanned riot, that’s a strategy! My guess is that it is the Qunari who have had enough and have decided to strike.”

   
“My sister still lives in Kirkwall. In Hightown, over there!” Carver pointed. “Oh Maker, look, Hightown is on fire as well.” Carver tensed, but before he could break into a run, Nathaniel put a hand out to stop him.

  
“It won’t help your sister to rush in and get yourself killed. We need to rendezvous with Stroud first and enter in numbers.”

  
Carver nodded. “Understood, Messer.”

   
The two men double-timed it down the coast road to the City. Fortunately, the rendezvous point was not yet under attack. Stroud spotted his two men as they hurried toward him.  “Good. I was beginning to be concerned. We need to move through the city to the docks.  Hopefully, our ship is still there. We can retreat and move up the coast to warn the rest of the Marches and return to our outpost. The Deep Roads entrance will have to wait.  Merde!” Stroud finished, clearly frustrated at the turn of events.

  
The unit set out moving through the streets. Their first encounters were with running civilians, but they soon spotted a squad of Qunari. As spears began to whiz by their heads, Nathaniel felt the air change, and looked at the Qunari unit.

   
“Saarebas!” Nathaniel yelled.  He was looking about trying to see where the electrical field was being formed by the Qunari mage, when kinetic force blew past him moving so fast that the Saarebas was swept off his feet and onto the ground before the sound of the telekenetic blow could be heard. Nathaniel started to move toward the Saarebas while he was still on the ground and unable to cast a spell but someone yelled, “Halt!”

  
Nathaniel stopped and saw why he’d been ordered to stay where he was. The Qunari mage was hit with a blast of ice that would have frozen him as well. “Now!” He heard. Nathaniel rushed the Saarebas, heedless of the other Qunari, knowing that the mage had to be put out of business or they would all be dead. Nathaniel pulled an explosive arrow from his quiver and shot it dead center of the brittled opponent. The Saarebas splintered.

   
He heard, rather than saw, a lance pass by him. Nathaniel rotated toward the direction of the throw and unloaded a quick volley of arrows.  He managed to take down a couple of grunts, but the Qunari were getting too close to be effective with the bow. Nathaniel unsheathed his knives. He had a chance to visualize the battlefield. A quick glance told him that there were about ten Qunari left in the unit they were fighting. He saw that their leader was still on his feet, buffing his men. Carver had just finished mangling an opponent. Nathaniel whistled and pointed.  It was something they often used to signal one another in their unit. Carver responded instantly running for the Qunari leader with loud battle yell. The leader turned toward the sound of Carver’s yell and the instant he did so, Nathaniel charged from the flank.   
At the same time, aother Qunari infantryman threw his lance. Luckily, it was a glancing blow that sliced, rather than pierced Nathaniel’s thigh, but the pain was intense. He was immediately bathed in healing energy, and the pain ceased. He felt rather than saw the wound close for he was already moving to target. Carver was being attacked from all sides. Everyone in his unit was engaged, so Nathaniel rushed the enemy leader and began slicing him up. He felt another healing wave pass over him as they battled. Once he had the leader down and dead he looked around once more. The remaining members of the Qunari band were rushing a single figure, but before they could completely converge, they were thrown back by a huge burst of energy. So that was the helpful mage! Nathaniel rushed forward as did many of the other Wardens and in moments they had dispatched the rest of the unit. Only then did Nathaniel realize that the mage was female. There was no time for more than a cursory glance at the hooded figure, for the sound of the enemy approaching drew his attention.

   
The Wardens fought their way across the City from Hightown down to the Lowtown market in skirmishes with Qunari units and groups of elves who appeared to either be Qunari sympathizers or raiders taking advantage of the chaos. Everyone’s attention was focused on each doorway, each alley, each shadow because any of them might produce an enemy. There was no time for talk or introductions. Training took hold and each Warden simply did what his or her body was prepared to do without thought.

  
They’d reached a poor residential area in Lowtown very near to the steps that led to the docks. They happened upon a heavily armed unit of Qunari augmented by Elven archers. Stroud and the regulars engaged the Qunari infantry, while Nathaniel found a perch up on one of the steps and began returning fire to the Elven archers. Suddenly, they were joined by a party of four: A mage dressed in light armor, a tattooed elf wielding a two-handed sword who moved like lightning, a strong woman using an axe and a shield, and a dwarf with a crossbow.

   
The armored mage took up a position near Stroud’s new mage, while the dwarf fired fire bolts from his cross-bow. The woman with the shield taunted the enemy, drawing them to her with a fierce battle cry, while the elf turned into a ghost who moved faster than Nathaniel had ever seen anyone move. But though he had more speed, his actions were familiar. Nathaniel had seen Carver shift his weight that way. There wasn’t more time to watch, Nathaniel had to get busy with his bow, taking out the archers who were so deadly with their arrows. Pretty certain that he’d been struck by a couple of arrows, he was able to ignore it because the two mages were casting heal spells so often there was little time to register the pain. Nathaniel saw movement to his left. There were Qunari coming up behind the mages with their spears. He started shooting at them and whistling for Carver.

   
Carver was still engaged with two Qunari swords, so Nathaniel jumped from the stairs into the corridor where the mages were and ran full out through the two mages to take out the Qunari nearest them. Nathaniel used his bow as an impromptu staff, cracking the nearest Qunari soldier in the face and rocking him backward. The mage dressed in light armor turned and quickly fired a bolt of pure electricity into the Qunari that jumped to his fellows. They were all momentarily paralyzed, allowing Nathaniel time to set his bow and unsheathe his knives. He stabbed the Qunari twice, planting his main hand weapon in the Qunari’s solar plexus. When the giant curled inward from the blow, Nathaniel used his off-hand weapon to rip out the giant’s throat. He started for the second Qunari, but Stroud’s mage had already taken down one of the Qunari with knives of her own. Nathaniel took out the last one quickly and turned around, running back to the sound of battle. Bolts of energy flew past him from two staves, striking the remaining opponents. By the time Nathaniel ran the corridor between the two buildings to the common area, the battle was over.

   
He wiped away the sweat from his brown and lip, and from behind him, he heard the mage in armor cry out, “Carver!”

  
Carver looked disgusted and happy all at the same time. “Hello, sister. Fancy meeting you here.”

  
Nathaniel was about to walk over and meet this sibling nemesis when his attention was caught by the white-haired elf in the strange armor. Nathaniel walked over to him instead. “Do you know that you’ve saved my life a time or two? I am Nathaniel Howe of the Grey Wardens.” Nathaniel pointed toward Carver. “He watched you, you know! Carver watched you, learned your style and incorporated it into his. He is the best two-hander in our unit. Thank you.”

  
The elf’s eyebrow climbed a little, but he nodded his head in Nathaniel’s direction and said, “I am Fenris. You are welcome. I am glad to know that Carver can do more than complain. A pleasure to meet you, Nathaniel Howe.”

  
“…..I fear pressing matters take us elsewhere...Take this. It is all we can spare…” Stroud was saying to Carver’s sister. Stroud gave a hand signal. He turned to Carver’s sister once more and said, “Maker watch over you, my friend.” “Come Wardens, we must go.”

  
Nathaniel and Carver fell into line, but the new mage held back a moment with Carver’s sister, before catching up with them. There was only one more minor encounter before they reached the docks. The ship was there, and the captain, eager to be far away from Kirkwall. Coin exchanged hands, and they were casting off; and soon, they were out in the harbor, with the sounds of combat receding. 

  
Nathaniel had lost his bedroll during the scuffle. That meant the loss of a good set of leathers. But at least he hadn’t lost his bow. The mage, still hooded, was moving among the men, using healing magic to mend that which was still broken, lacerated. But there was something in the way she moved, something about the shape of her hands.

  
Nathaniel walked swiftly over to where she was kneeling. He couldn’t help himself. He pulled back her hood. Overwhelmed, “Angharad,” was all he managed to say for a moment. Then his fingers pushed softly through her shortened locks. “You’ve cut your hair.”

 


	8. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad beings work as the Physician for the Grey Wardens Free Marches Post.

Chapter Eight  
Reunion

  
Angharad looked up at him. “And you’ve kept yours long, but then you don’t use fire as often as I do these days.” She turned back toward the man she was tending. “Excuse me, Captain, but I must tend to this man.” Nathaniel stood still a long second, started to go after her, but then crossed the deck to sit back down once more.  
The ship’s captain ordered them to move their things below deck as they had reached the mouth of the harbor. The sea tended to chop, and it was better to have gear stowed away. Nathaniel and Carver were the only two men of their assigned unit on this mission, so they put their things together on the port side of the vessel amidships and sat down. Despite having no bedroll, Nathaniel was asleep within moments of stretching out on the deck. Most of the men were sound asleep by the time Angharad tended to her last patient. 

  
Commander Stroud was still on deck finishing and turned to the hatch at the same time that Angharad reached it. He gestured for her to go first. When they were below deck, Stroud said to her sotto voce, “I am very glad you were on time for our rendezvous. Your staff was a critical part of our success this evening.”

  
“I was happy I could be of service, Commander,” She whispered as they walked the length of the hull toward the stern. Back here there was still room to lie down. Angharad unrolled her bedroll as did Stroud. She waited until Stroud fell asleep. She took one of her two blankets and lay it softly over Nathaniel’s sleeping form before returning to her place to take her own rest.

  
The journey from Kirkwall up the coast to Starkhaven was uneventful. Stroud relayed the Kirkwall situation to the Prince of Starkhaven, who assured the Commander that he would send word up the coast to the other principalities that very day. After a brief overnight stay in Starkhaven, the Wardens marched inward to their outpost.   
By the time they reached base, word had already come that Miri Hawke had defeated the Arishok in single combat and was named the Champion of Kirkwall. The remainder of the Qunari had returned home to Par Vollen, and war with the Qunari was averted for now.

  
“Great,” Carver said, to no one in particular.

  
Angharad went immediately to the infirmary where she was to take over supervision of both the building and any staff.

   
“Nathaniel had told me long ago, that you were the best person to train personnel in better wound care. With that in mind, I was the first to request you as our medical officer when Rywik released you for service. My understanding is that I cannot consider this a permanent deployment as the Order may send you elsewhere with the same mission,” Stroud said.

  
Angharad nodded. “Yes. This was explained to me as well. Am I to have any assistance, other than the Warden I am replacing?   
“Certainly, Warden. We have engaged two elves to assist you. They came last week.” 

  
With a frustrated sigh, Angharad insisted, “I am not a Warden, Commander. I haven’t taken the joining,”

  
“Nor shall you.  But it is simpler to refer to you as warden than anything else,” Stroud responded.

    
“Physician would do as well, Commander, or Clinician or Infirmarian. Anyone of those would be more appropriate. I would not wish to lay claim to a title I have not earned.”

  
“Excuse me, but are you always this obstinate?” Stroud asked her. Angharad was about to respond when Stroud put up his hand to stop her. “Never mind. It isn’t worth arguing about. Physician it is.”

  
 “Thank you, Commander.” Angharad bowed her head. Then, she left Stroud’s office and went down the wooden boardwalk and stairs to the building that had been pointed out to her as the infirmary.

  
The Free Marches outpost was built on an easily defensible hill. It was constructed as a set of circles.  The outer circle was a deep ditch and a palisade, made of sturdy timbers. A well-defended drawbridge was the only way over the ditch. This led to a killing field and an inner stockade. A wooden battlement encircled the inner wall. Inside the inner wall were the buildings that housed the barracks, the infirmary, the hall, the armory and the storehouses. Stroud’s office resided in the second story of one of the storehouses. Wooden buildings were gradually being replaced with ones of stone, but it would take many years and a great deal of coin before this was completely accomplished.

  
When she opened the door to the infirmary, the stench of unwashed men, old and new blood and putrefaction assailed her nose. As she gazed about the room, she saw that there were nine patients in cots. Attending them were two elves, a male and a female. The man in charge of the infirmary, Gorrig was nowhere to be seen.    
Angharad caught the attention of the male elf. It was difficult to tell his age, he looked very young but then, elves often looked younger than they were. He walked over. “Yes Messer?” 

  
“May I ask your name?” Angharad asked, softly.

  
“Kiros, Messer,” He replied.  Now that he was nearer, Angharad saw that he was somewhat older than she’d thought at first. Not as handsome as Rywik, but still attractive in an elven way.

   
“Would you be so kind as to ask your coworker to join you and me in the little office over there?” Angharad pointed toward an open door.

  
“Yes, of course, Messer.” He went over to the female elf while Angharad stepped into the row created by the lines of cots on either side of the infirmary.

  
“Gentlemen? Wardens?” The men on the cots, those who could respond, raised their heads or sat up. “Who among you is able to stand and ambulate without assistance?”

  
Hands went up.  Angharad counted five who could walk. “Very well, Wardens. There will soon be a great deal of hot water on hand. You shall disrobe and bathe. There will be soap and towels for you to use soon. Wardens, this is not a request, this is an order. And you need not be concerned as to my sensibilities. I have been tending wounded men since I was a girl. Your nakedness will neither embarrass nor enflame me, so there will be no occasion for sin on anyone’s part. Now, remove your clothes, and put them in a pile. Wrap yourselves in blankets for the moment.”

  
Angharad turned to see the elves entering the small office at the head of the building.  She went inside as well.  “I already have met Kiros. So, you must be Leilien, yes?” The two elves bowed and curtsied.

   
 “You needn’t bow. I am neither noble nor wealthy. I am called Angharad, and I ask you to call me by name. We are going to be a team, and I am going to teach you what I know about medicine.  I hope you will be so gracious as to teach me as well for I am eager to learn what you know that I don’t.” 

  
They nodded, if somewhat hesitantly. “Good. Now here is the plan. Please find as many large metal kettles as you can. Set them up in the courtyard, and fill them with water with plenty of wood underneath for a good fire. Find brooms, mops, scrub brushes, rags, anything you can find that we can use to clean with. I hope there are at least three pots, for we will boil our patients’ dirty clothing and hang them to dry. We will boil all the bed linens except those in which are patients are now wrapped. We will use the hot water in the second pot to scrub and clean as much of the infirmary as we can reach. The last pot will be for hot water for the Wardens, so that they may wash. Now, please let me know when the pots are filled with water and have good wood under them to burn.”

  
“Yes, Mess—Angharad,” Kiros replied. 

  
Angharad went back into the infirmary.  By now, those Wardens who were well enough to stand were disrobed and wrapped in smelly blankets.  Angharad moved among them, gathering their dirty clothing, carrying the lott outside and into the courtyard, doing her best not to gag as she did so. She went back in and took a great deal of soap from her pack. She walked down the line of cots and put a sliver of soap into each man’s hand.

   
“Use this to wash, and keep it for next time,” She told each man at arms. “Now, sit down. The water will be ready soon.”

  
She reached the end of the line and then started back, examining the four Wardens who were too ill or injured to stand. She used healing magic to stabilize each of them until she could attend to them more fully. Going back outside, she saw that her attendants had accomplished her task and had four large kettles filled with water set on top of wood ready for heating.

   
“Stand back,” She told them, and when they were safely at a distance, she incanted fire, and as it began to stream from her hands, she set the wood on fire with enough energy so that even the larger logs caught and held the flame. The elves were already gathering articles with which to clean. Angharad gave them large cakes of washing soap from her carry bag. 

  
“When the first pot boils, dump those clothes into it. I will throw out the dirty linens. Let me know when the rest of the water is ready.”

  
Angharad found two washing tubs stacked in one of the back storerooms. They looked little used. Angharad rolled them out one at a time and put them at the other end of the infirmary, near the door to the outside. Then she started stripping the beds and carrying the linens outside, throwing it all out into the courtyard.

  
It was at this time that Gorrig came into the infirmary. As the person in charge, he was most responsible for the chaos Angharad now saw before her. She approached him in self-righteous anger that he could let this happen, but then she stopped short. In his eyes, she saw the truth. His face was ravaged, pale, and the veins in his face were growing prominent and dark green. His hair was thin, and Angharad guessed that this was not natural to him but rather a recent event. He was younger than was usual, but it was clear that the Calling was overwhelming him.

   
“Are you my replacement? Stroud said someone was coming. Are you she?”

  
“Yes, Warden. I am here to relieve you. It is growing unbearable, isn’t it?”

  
“Yes,” Gorrig told her quietly, twitching a little as he spoke. “I am ashamed that things are as they are. I’m not sleeping much any longer; the dreams are too vivid.”

  
“I understand. I am ashamed that I made assumptions before I met you. It was wrong of me.” Angharad turned back to the task at hand, knowing that simple physical movement would help to hide any shaking. She had to appear completely strong and unmoved by his plight. Nathaniel! Oh, Maker, Nathaniel! Angharad faced Gorrig once more. “I can give you something to allow you to sleep.  It will not work for very long, but it will buy you a little bit of time.”

  
Gorrig let out a little gasp. “Oh yes, please. That would be fine. I could use some rest.”

  
Angharad went to her trunk and found the most powerful sleep potion she had. She gave him a large flask. “One to three capfuls at night,” She told him, handing him the flask. “Please. Go and rest, Warden.” 

  
 Gorrig walked slowly out of the infirmary.

  
Do not think of it! Do not, or you will cry and be useless! It isn’t Nathaniel, not yet. There is time to find a way to save him. She told herself.  Holding back tears, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to be calm. When Kiros came back into the infirmary with more hot water, she asked him. “Is there any clean linen anywhere for the infirmary?”

  
“Yes. Let me show you. I was exploring some yesterday to try and sort out what needed to be done.” Kiros took her to a set of chests that were in the rear of the room.  He opened them to show her some blankets and linens that were relatively clean.

   
“Would you and Leilien be so kind as to change the linens on the bed of those who are unable to do so? If Leilien could see to the female Warden, I would appreciate it.”  
“Yes, of course,” Kiros replied.

  
Angharad distributed the clean linens to the men who had bathed and put the remaining stack near the tubs for those who had yet to get clean. She went into the small room and closed the door, removing her gown and putting on breeches and shirt so that she could scrub the floors. Angharad was hard at the task of floor scrubbing when the Commander entered the infirmary. As he stood in the door, Stroud took in the scene. Recuperating men were walking about in nothing but bed linens or blankets while others were naked in washtubs. Elves were tending to the four bedridden wardens, and his new Physician was on her hands and knees scrubbing floors. His moustache twitched, but he said nothing aloud. Instead, he signaled to Angharad. She got up and rubbed her hands down her breeches to dry them as she walked up to her new Commander. 

  
“Walk with me,” Stroud said, taking Angharad down to the opposite end of the building.

  
When they were out of earshot, Stroud said, “Care to explain to me why you are on your knees scrubbing the floor?”

  
Angharad stopped. She took a deep breath, trying to hold her temper. “Why did you not relieve Gorrig sooner? Surely someone could have come to manage the infirmary. You should have had someone else take charge once you realized what was happening to him. Commander, let me show you what your lethargy has wrought.”

   
Stroud nodded. Angharad walked him to one of the corners of the room. There were dirty bandages on the floor, and the stench was horrific and grew more so the nearer they got. As he looked at the bandages, they appeared to move. In a low voice she said two words. “Maggots, Commander.” She then took him to one of the most gravely wounded men. As she gently turned back the blankets and lifted the bandage the stench of gangrene rose in the air. “This man’s wound was completely untended when I walked into this room today. I’ve done what I could for the moment, but I am afraid that he may be beyond any healing I can use, magical or otherwise. I’ve used a poultice for the infection and healing magic to ease his pain. Kiros, or Leilien will bathe him soon and change his bed, but it may be too late.”

   
As they walked back toward the door, Angharad said, “There are fleas everywhere.  Fleas carry plague and other diseases, and I am certain the rats find this place quite homey as well. Rats carry fleas and they also carry other diseases. Did you not realize how ill he was becoming? Could you not see?”

  
Stroud said nothing at first. Angharad realized that he was fighting back his anger at her upbraiding. He took a deep breath shrugged. “I did not wish to see. And before you say it, I will say it for you. I am to blame for this. I should have intervened sooner. Carry on, Physician.” Stroud left the infirmary without another word.  
Angharad ran her hands through her hair and then went back to scrubbing. By this time, much of the patients’ clothing was dry, and the elves were bringing them in to distribute back to the men-at-arms. Angharad noted with great satisfaction that those Wardens who were well enough took up a broom or other cleaning implement and went to work with her. It allowed her to get back to tending to their medical needs. By supper, the infirmary was sorted out. All the dirty rags were burned, the shelving disinfected. Angharad sent her new-found staff and the men at arms who were able to walk to eat; she asked her staff to return with food for those who could not get to the hall. At the moment, her four most critical patients were sleeping.

  
Angharad went to the bedside of the gravely ill young warrior. She had done everything she knew to do; she had tried heal spells and blue-green mold and potions of elfroot and other things, but nothing was helping. The man was slipping away. His extremities took on pale blue-grey tones as the gangrene made its way through his body. He had been unconscious for most of the day, raving a little when the fever went up, but unable to communicate in a coherent way.  Angharad thought he might pass from this life without speaking, but as she was tending him, he opened his eyes. It was apparent that he could see her and that he was coherent. His light grey eyes fastened on hers, and he tried to smile. Angharad had seen this before; some had a moment of clarity before death.

   
“Hello,” Angharad said, taking his hands in hers.

  
“I’m dying, aren’t I?” The man said.

   
Angharad never lied. Those who were near death often knew it; their bodies told them everything they needed to know. Some were brave enough to acknowledge it. “I think you are near death, yes. Forgive me, I wish I had more skill to help you.” She brushed his hair away from his forehead.

  
“Please do that again,” He said to her turning his head to look at Angharad.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the touch of a woman’s hand.”

  
“Certainly.” Angharad brushed his hair back again. He had a tattoo high on his forehead. Angharad recognized it as a clan sign, one from the Avvaran hill folk.

  
“Nothing to forgive you know. It is nice to have a pretty face to admire as I leave this world.” The man smiled. He was young, and Angharad’s heart hurt to think that he would die. Despite the pain, she managed a smile. “Fare thee well, dyn ifanc. May our Lady of the Skies see you safely home.” She began to hum an old lullaby that was much loved by the people as she continued to stroke his hair.

  
The young man closed his eyes slowly. After a time, he slipped quietly away. One moment he was breathing; the next moment he was not. Angharad could sense when his spirit departed. She stopped singing and brushed his hair back one last time before standing and covering his face with his blanket.  
She put her hand to her mouth to swallow back the tears and turned to go.

  
Nathaniel stood about six feet away, a blanket draped over his arm. He started to speak, but she spoke first. “Whom do I inform of Warden Talog’s death?”

   
“Do not concern yourself.  I will tend to it,” Nathaniel told her. “Forgive me for coming on you unannounced, but I wished to return this blanket to you. In an effort to avoid meeting you, I seem to have stumbled upon you after all.”

  
Angharad ignored Nathaniel’s remark. “Warden Talog is not the first patient I have lost to death, and he will not be the last. I need to know the proper procedure.”  
“Your staff can deal with his body. You need to inform the Commander’s yeoman. He will know what forms are needed.” Nathaniel lay the blanket down on the nearby table.

  
“Thank you,” Her eyes held his, but he saw nothing there for him.

  
“Are you still angry with me then?” He asked, his expression grim.

  
“I don’t want to speak of it, Nathaniel,” She said softly. Without another word, she took the blanket to her private space in the infirmary. When she came back into the main room, Nathaniel was gone.

  
By the time Angharad made it to the hall to eat, word had already passed among the men at arms that the new physician was a spell caster. Angharad took a bowl and a spoon, dished out some stew and took a hunk of bread, and a mug of cider. She made her way to a table that was relatively empty and took a seat. She ate about half of the stew and all of her bread, washing it down with the cool apple drink. It was only then she realized that her table was now empty except for herself. She remembered Denerim and the way everyone cleared out when Rywik sat down to eat. Now, it was her turn.

   
She turned her eyes to her meal, but sensed that someone was now seated directly across from her. It was the young swordsman with the mage sister. “Hello. Name’s Carver, in case you’ve forgotten,” He said, setting his bowl down along with about half a loaf of bread and a mug of ale. “Just got off guard, I’m starved. To her amazement he downed an entire bowl of stew, the half loaf of bread and looked over at her half-eaten dish. “You done with that?” He asked her.

  
“Yes. Would you like it?”  Angharad asked, shoving the bowl his way.

  
“Thanks, saves me getting up.” Carver gleefully downed the remainder of her stew. He finished off the rest of his ale. “So, they say you are going to run the clinic now. That right?”

  
“Yes. I’m the new healer.”  

  
“Welcome to our unit. I’m one of the newer Wardens around here, but the lads you cleaned up today have been telling tales about how you shot lightning out your arse at the same time that you made them clean the clinic.” Before Angharad could say anything, Carver said, “I need more stew. I still have a huge appetite. You want anything?”

  
“Cider?” Angharad asked

.  
“Cider it is.” Carver went back to the food and came back with more food and drink.

  
“There,” Carver said, putting fresh cider in front of Angharad.

  
“It was fire, actually. More from my fingertips than elsewhere. Thank you for the cider. So why are you here at my table when so many wish to be elsewhere?” 

  
Carver’s already pleasant expression grew conspiratorial as he lowered his voice. “I could pretend it is because I am the bravest soul in the outpost, but that title probably goes to my captain. I expect it is because I grew up in a house filled to the brim with mages. My sister, the one you met is, of course, a mage. My father and sister, both of whom are now dead, were mages as well. You look as though you have it well in hand, so I am not concerned. These are brave lads for the most part; they’ll get over it when they realize you aren’t making deals with demons.”

  
Angharad laughed at that. “I don’t know about that. I did have to work with the Hero of Ferelden for a time. He can be pretty demony.”

  
Carver leaned forward. “You jest, right? You truly know the Hero of Ferelden? The dragon-slaying, king-making, werewolf-changing, archdemon-killing elf?”

   
“Rywik is my mentor. He oversaw my Harrowing. Why?”

  
“Andraste’s Flaming Tits! You know someone more famous than my sister!” Carver cried.

  
Carver stood up. “Eneko! Lilou! Moshe!  Come here. You have to hear this. She’s on a first-name acquaintance with the Hero of Ferelden!”

  
Two men and a woman came over. Handshakes and names were shared all round and they all sat down with her. Lilou said, “Is the Hero truly as handsome as his painting?  He looks very fetchingin his portrait. They displayed a copy in Kirkwall for over a month and passed out engravings.”

  
“Yes. Rywik is very striking in a dark and broody sort of way. Did the portrait show his tattoos?” Angharad asked. Lilou nodded. “He made his own blood ink and had a friend in the Ferelden Circle do them.” 

  
“That had to hurt!” Lilou said, leaning in, eager to know more.

  
“Wait a minute!” Carver said, interrupting. “We don’t care for his looks! Tell us about his combat skills!”

  
Angharad smiled. She had gone off on a female tangent there for a moment. “Well he is a fully harrowed mage. He is very expert with Entropy Spells, Creation Spells and Spirit Healing and Cold spells.”

  
The men were looking bored again. “And he also is an expert with knives, staves and hand-to-hand combat.” Angharad finished. “We used to practice our combat training together every morning.”

  
“Well what about the archdemon?  They say it appeared as a great dragon.” Moshe said. “Did he talk about how he defeated it?”

  
“Do you want the truth? Or the fairy tale?” Angharad asked them all.

   
“Oh, the truth.” They said in unison.

  
“Rywik and Alistair both went up the Tower with another mage named Wynne and an archer, named Leliana.” Angharad began. “Riordan, another Ferelden Grey Warden, had jumped on the archdemon’s back and managed to rip a gaping hole in the archdemon’s wing. Riordan fell to his death before he could kill the archdemon, but his heroic act prevented the great dragon from flying. Without his sacrifice, Rywik believed that the Archdemon might have won the day. Because of Riordan, it could do no more than hop a short distance. So, they had it trapped on the tower roof. Wynne was keeping everyone alive with heal spells; Leliana was firing arrows and the ballistae at the demon. The Dalish elves were also firing arrows. Alistair was attacking with Starfang, his favorite sword, and Rywik was casting any and every spell he could think of that might slow the dragon and the darkspawn minions down. The Archdemon made one last attempt to get off the tower and failed because it could no longer fly. It was on the roof killing elves and dwarves right and left. Alistair, now King of Ferelden, saw an opening and ran in and made it onto the Archdemon’s neck, riding it like a wild pony. He managed to thrust Starfang, his sword, into its neck. The dragon threw him off. The wound was mortal, but it was a slow kill. And while the Archdemon lived, however wounded it was, it was still very like to kill more before it finally died. Alistair and Rywik argued as to who would deal the killing blow. There was an old myth that whichever warden struck the blow would die. Rywik insisted that the kingdom needed Alistair alive more than it needed him, so he knocked the King of Ferelden on his arse with some magic. He picked up a two-handed sword ran in, slid under the archdemon and slit it from stem to stern. When it could not pick its head up any longer, Rywik plunged the sword into its brain, and the rest is history.” Angharad told them.  She left out the part about the bargain with Flemeth’s daughter to stay alive.

  
When they looked at her, amazed and confused, she added, “Rywik has always told anyone who would listen that Alistair did the heavy lifting that night, but the kingdom needed a hero and so Alistair turned Rywik into one. It is true that Rywik pulled the dwarves, elves and humans together into a fighting army. It is true that he slew a dragon and discovered Andraste’s ashes to save the Arl of Redcliffe.”

  
“Whoa. Didn’t see that coming!” Carver said at last. “And he slew that traitor, Loghain!”

  
“Yes. Yes, he did.” Angharad agreed. She looked around. The original small group at the table had grown to a rather large crowd.

   
“I say we drink the health of the mage who put that Warden-killing, iKng and army-deserting, bastard in his grave,” Carver stood up with his tankard. All of them stood and drank the health of Rywik. Then they sat back down and the crowd began to wither away.

   
“Wardens. Dawn comes early. Let’s hit the rack.” Nathaniel had come up to the crowd while Angharad was telling her tale. Now the wardens heeded his command. They all said goodnight and headed toward the barracks.

  
When they were out of earshot, Nathaniel turned to Angharad and said, “Have care with Carver, Angharad. He may misconstrue your need to mend things into an interest in him personally.”

  
“On the contrary, Captain. Young Carver was taking pity on me. He saw that I was being shunned and came to sit with me. He encouraged his fellow Wardens to get to know me before they judged. In truth, I remind him of his sisters. And, admit it or not, he misses them,” Angharad said. And then she thought about it further and added. “And what is it to you?”

  
“Carver is under my command, sirrah, and it is my responsibility to see to his safety.” Nathaniel retorted.

  
“Oh? And now I am a danger to your men?  Do you think I will enchant them with witchcraft?  Or perhaps I will lure with my womanly charms? Well, I shall certainly endeavor to keep from endangering your men further.” Angharad charged out of the hall. “Goodnight, Captain.”

  
By the time she reached the infirmary, Angharad had cooled off. What insane impulse had driven her to strike out at Nathaniel in such a fashion? She’d made her point with the truth.  Why had she goaded him in such a way? Foolish! Foolish to let him see that he can still rile you!! Her inner voice continued to berate her as she made her rounds. Satisfied that her patients were doing as well as she could hope for, she went to bed. She was still berating herself for her actions when she fell asleep an hour later.

  
The dream was very vivid. She was in a cavern, warmed and lit by lava flowing in dwarven made channels. There was the smell of damp rock, dry earth, and molten lava. Suddenly, she could sense the darkspawn, but it was too late, they had already sprung the trap and she was caught along with the others. They were fighting hard. She drew her bow and began firing. She was running, taking out darkspawn as she went. Angharad looked down at her hands.  Strange, not her hands, but familiar. She nocked an arrow, firing again. Angharad looked at the bow. The Howe crest was burned into the decoration. The Howe crest! She looked at her clothing. Light armor, Nathaniel’s armor. She kept firing until her arrows were gone and then she pulled her blades. There were still coming, darkspawn. And there was no help.  
Angharad woke up, sat up. She broke into a cold sweat. Nathaniel; trapped in the Deep Roads. She got out of bed and began to pace, seeking to clear her mind and step into the vision so that she could better understand it, but nothing was coming. The day’s events had upset her too much. There was one thing left to try.   
She went to the desk and took out paper, ink and a quill. Angharad started making slow, lazy loops with her pen as she let her mind go blank, the loops of ink the only thing she saw or felt until nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing only the movement of the pen to the ink to the pape,r to the ink to the pape,r to the ink to the paper, and more paper….

  
Sometime later, Angharad came to. On the page before her was a letter to Delilah, Nathaniel’s sister, begging her to go to Kirkwall, to find Miri Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall and ask her to seek Nathaniel in the Deep Roads.

  
The writing was extremely messy and the grammar very poor, so Angharad rewrote the letter, sealed it and put it on the table. Angharad was certain she would be sending it to Delilah soon.  
 


	9. Reunion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel confronts Angharad about their break-up.

Chapter Nine  
Reunion II

  
Nathaniel stared after Angharad’s retreating back as a mixture of anger and bewilderment roiled through his brain. He’d understood that much of Angharad’s last statement was just the sort of nonsense one spouted when really angry. He’d heard it before. He’d even spouted nonsense himself a time or two. But one thing Angharad said puzzled him. What is it to you? She’d said.

  
Now that she was gone, he could think of a response. What is it to me? What is it to me? It’s that I want your attention, Woman. Do you not understand this? Andraste’s Ass! How long must I pay for the mistake of listening to that damned elf? Isn’t two years long enough?  Nathaniel shook his head and went on his way infuriated and confused by Angharad’s stubborn refusal to talk to him.

  
Two days later, he was in the barracks, back from patrol, changing from his leathers into more comfortable clothing. He was tired, and hungry, and discouraged. As he walked toward the hall to find something to eat, he was stopped by one of the men on guard. “Captain, Commander wants to see you.”  
“Very well, thank you.” Nathaniel turned and ran up the steps to the Warden Commander’s office. He waited only a moment in the anteroom before the orderly announced him. “Captain Howe reporting as ordered, messer.”

  
“Yes.  Nathaniel. Sit.” Stroud pushed some papers across the desk. “Now that the Qunari situation is resolved, we need to go back and follow the Champion’s expedition route into the Deep Roads. There have been disturbing reports of members of the party being abandoned, going insane, and other disquieting matters. The reports are that theThaig they uncovered looked nothing like any dwarven architecture known. We also have rumors that they discovered a form of lyrium that was previously unknown.” 

  
“Yes, messer,” Nathaniel said, waiting.

  
“Weisshaupt has decided that it would cause less attention and notoriety if the expedition were not officially a Grey Warden mission. For this reason, we want you to choose a team to take into the Deep Roads. Perhaps you can get this Bartrand, the one who is now in an asylum, to reveal the route they took. You can have the major portion of any salvage you discover, and the Order is giving you gold to finance the expedition,” Stroud explained. 

  
Nathaniel thought about it. His squad would not do for such an expedition, although Nathaniel wanted Carver along—he’d been there before, and his experience would be invaluable.  In thinking about what he would need, he realized that some of the dwarves who were still at the Vigil would be helpful, particularly those who knew about explosives. If they needed to excavate, the explosives experts would be very important. There was the additional fact that dwarves had some resistance to the taint, particularly if they had spent any time at all living in Orzammar. “Messer, do the members have to be Wardens?” He asked.

   
“Not at all.” 

  
“Still, I would like Carver to go, perhaps someone else.”

   
“No mages, Nathaniel. We are still awaiting a decision regarding the Warden prison. Until I know what the First Warden wishes to do there, I must keep the mages close,” Stroud said.

   
“Wasn’t even considering that, messer,” Nathaniel said, and he meant it. Angharad was the only mage available who had healing magic. He would not expose her to the possibility of contracting the disease. So, they would have to carry a great many healing potions and injury kits with them and hope that they would be sufficient.  
“Some of the people I would like to take into the Roads reside at the Vigil. Have I your permission travel there?” Nathaniel asked. 

  
“Of course. Do what you must, Nathaniel. I will send you with letters of introduction to the new Warden Commander there, and you can do double duty and act as courier for me.”

  
“Very well, messer. May I go?”

  
“Certainly. Dismissed,” Stroud replied.

  
Nathaniel went back to the barracks and sat down with pen and paper to organize his thoughts. By the time he was finished, it truly was time for the evening meal.  Nathaniel made his way to the hall. Taking food and ale, he sat down to eat. Intent on his meal, he didn’t notice at first that someone had joined him at the table, but then he caught her scent. “Angharad.” He did not look at her. “What now,” he barked, without looking at her. 

  
“You are going to the Deep Roads?” Angharad asked him. 

  
He could hear the terror in her voice and looked up to study her. She was agitated, frightened. Nathaniel wondered what that was about, but he gave nothing away in either his look or his manner. Nonchalantly, he turned his attention to his meal once more. “Ah, the grapevine. Ever efficient. What of it?”

  
“Take me with you, Nathaniel,” Angharad begged.

  
“No,” Nathaniel took another mouthful of food.

  
“Nathaniel, take me with you.” 

  
He swallowed, wiped his mouth and looked at her again. “No.”

  
“Please!”

  
“No!” He returned to his meal. He felt her movement as she stood up again.

  
“Oh Maker!” She whispered almost under her breath. “Oh Maker, no.”

  
Nathaniel took a good look at Angharad. She was staring at the far end of the hall. He looked as well. Gorrig was coming through the hall, accompanied by Wardens who, by tradition, were either his joining mates or squadmates or both. They would have shared a private farewell, and now he was walking the hall—going out for his last Deep Roads patrol. His friends would accompany him to the entrance, and he would go in alone, in search of a last great battle, a quick death.

  
Nathaniel rose and moved to the end of the table as did all the other wardens who were there. As Gorrig passed, they saluted him quietly. Except for the sound of their feet as they passed, both the patrol and the wardens watching were silent. Stroud was one of the men accompanying Gorrig. No one moved until he had passed through the outer doors. Then everyone returned to their meal.

  
Nathaniel turned in time to see Angharad running out the back door of the hall.  Nathaniel followed her out of the building. She was standing alone in the empty courtyard, her breathing rapid and shallow.  He drew near and she heard him. “Can’t…breathe,” Angharad gasped.

  
Nathaniel took her face in his hands. “Nonsense! You’re breathing now--just too fast because you are anxious and frightened. Slow down, calm down”. He caressed her cheeks with his hands. “There, slower, there’s nothing to fear, you must calm yourself.  You know how, slowly, breathe slowly, that’s better love, breathe slowly. It’s all right, it’s all right.” When her breathing finally slowed, he led her to the raised wooden walkway with its retaining wall and had her sit on its edge. After a moment’s hesitation, he sat next to her.

  
Nathaniel realized that her defenses had been stripped by the emotions she’d felt watching Gorrig’s departure. Now, at last, she might be willing to talk. “Angharad, you are going to tell me what is wrong!” Nathaniel took her hand in his. She was still trembling, but growing calmer by the moment. “I have waited two years to know why you sent me away.”

  
“I don’t’ know where to begin.” 

  
 “All right, let me ask you a question.”  Nathaniel turned Angharad by her shoulders so that he could see her face. “Why did Gorrig frighten you so badly?”

  
“He did not frighten me. You frighten me, Nathaniel. It is the fact that it could be you; it will be you someday.” Angharad explained, unconsciously reaching for his hand once more, tightening her grip. “You will walk into that terrible place alone to be killed.”

  
“I could be killed tomorrow, as you could be killed tomorrow. Yes, I am a man who earns his bread in combat. It is the way of it. Today, tomorrow, twenty years from now, I will die. Someday I will fail to duck a sword in time, or catch an arrow in the brain. Or the dreams will catch me.” He shook his head lowering his hands to his sides, exasperated. “Angharad, death comes to us all. How could you waste two years of our lives this way?”

  
“Don’t yell at me, Nathaniel.” Angharad said hotly. “In the beginning I was furious with you for allowing me to go into that room unprepared for what was to happen! You betrayed me. You should have told me.”

  
“Maker help me, I did not know what Rywik intended to do,” Nathaniel retorted just as incensed. “Do you think I would have let him get the best of me that way?  I thought you were going to be his target, not me. I made a mistake! Can we not get past that?”

  
“I realized that very soon after we quarreled.”

  
Nathaniel’s grey eyes were steely, even in the low light of the sunset. “What quarrel? What quarrel, Angharad?  I was unconscious. While I was unconscious, you decided, and you sent me away.  As I recall, you even threatened to break my arm.” He exhaled sharply, his body tense. “We didn’t argue, you commanded! You ordered me out of your life as one would dismiss the meanest servant! You are more ruthless than I ever gave you credit for being, that is certain. How could you be so hard-hearted?”

  
“That day changed me, Nathaniel. I am not who I was. It was harden my heart or…or I would have…You cannot understand what it means to have magic. You cannot know what a curse it is.”  She started to rise, but Nathaniel held onto her hand and she sat back down.

   
Realizing that his remark had been rather idiotic, he took a breath and said, “So melodramatic, Angharad. Neither of us are the people we used to be.” He leaned in and softly kissed her lips and stood up, drawing her up and into his arms while his free hand, molded her hips to his. Angharad could feel him, hard, against her. “Maker save me, but I still want you.” He told her as he ran his lips softly over the line of her jaw before returning to her mouth for another, deeper kiss. “Yes. I still want you.” He said, almost to himself, as he released her and started to walk back toward the hall.

  
Angharad ran to catch up with Nathaniel. Now it was she who grabbed his arm, turned him around. “What does that mean? You still want me—still want me how? In bed?”

  
“In bed would be nice, Angharad. It’s been a long time, and I am a man. I would settle for that.” Then, Nathaniel laughed bitterly. “It would be better than the nothing we have shared for two years!”

  
Frustrated by his sarcastic demeanor, Angharad fumed. “What do you want from me?”

  
“I thought we’d established that.” Nathaniel retorted

.   
“Nate, please.”

   
Nathaniel jerked his arm from her grasp and started toward the hall once more. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, cursed under his breath, turned back around and came to stand next to her. 

  
“Damn you! Damn you! I should tell you to go to the demons, but…” He stopped and took hold of her shoulders, gripping them tight, giving her a little shake. “I love you, woman, I love you to the Void and beyond, and…the next time we quarrel, we talk about it; we fight about it, we scream about it, whatever it may be. The next time, Angharad, you don’t throw me out of your life for two years! Because if you ever do that again—” 

  
“I promise, never again. I’m so sorry, Nathaniel. I am, I thought I was protecting you, but I was being a coward,” Angharad insisted.

  
Nathaniel swallowed and pulled her into an embrace. “You were, and you weren’t. As much as I hate that elf, he was right. You needed that time with him, time to learn, time to grow. I am sorry as well, anam cara.” He tipped her face up to his with his fingertips and kissed her again, urgently.

Voices coming their way caused them to break apart. When the two wardens passed them on their way back to the barracks, Angharad moved to Nathaniel’s side. “How are we going to manage this?” She asked him, slipping her hand into his.

  
“I do not know. This is not the Vigil, and there is no solar. I’ll have to think on it.” Nathaniel replied. “But I’ll think of something. It just may take a while.” He squeezed her hand before letting go, allowing her to enter the hall before he returned to his place at the table.

  
***

  
During the weeks that followed, Angharad began sharing her knowledge with Kiros and Leilien. Through a little research, they discovered an herb garden. It needed to be weeded and new stakes put out to label the plants accurately, but at least they would not have to start from scratch.

   
“I may be telling you things that you already know. I may be sharing topics about which you know more than I. Forgive me, but it is necessary for me to pretend that you know nothing so that I do not leave any information unshared. I am not trying to be condescending.” Angharad told them that first day.

  
“We understand, mistress,” Kiros said to her.

  
“Please call me Angharad.”

   
Kiros shook his head. “Mistress, Leilien and I both agree we are more comfortable calling you by your honorific. Please do not be upset; it is just simpler than way.”

  
“Very well. It is your choice. Please know that.”

  
With that they began to work.  Most of the ambulatory patients were already discharged and back to duty. The three most critical patients were now definitely on the mend and would be back to duty in a week or two. So Angharad began with assembling medical kits for the squads to carry with them while on patrol. Healing potions and stamina potions were best kept individually so that they could be ingested during combat. Angharad also put at least two injury kits into each individual medical pack, though she put additional ones into the squad leader’s kit. 

  
Angharad, Kiros, and Leilien set up an assembly line, with each of them adding something to the kits. In this fashion, they put together numerous kits that could be taken off the shelves and given out at a moment’s notice. They did the same thing with spare bandages. By the end of the day, their shelves were full.

  
Later that week, Angharad’s trunks arrived, and with them the bulk of her supplies and equipment. She set up a work area in which they could distill ingredients and combine them into the remedies she needed for a fully stocked clinic. The men willing to seek out her care were sparse at first, but those brave enough to come for help sang her praises to the other men and women. Soon, Angharad had a steady stream of wardens seeking remedies for everything from foot fungus to old wounds that had not completely healed. Whenever she could use regular medicine, she did. The primary reason was that it was less threatening to the patients, but also because ordinary medicine was something that Kiros and Leilien could duplicate.

   
With each person who came through the door, Angharad showed her staff how to diagnose the problem and how to determine the best therapeutic approach. “You must remember that we only assist the Maker and the person’s own body in healing,” she said, as she applied an ointment to one warden’s wound. “The medicines allow the body enough time to gather its own forces in the battle to regain full health.”

  
Angharad showed Kiros and Leilien how to use her microscope, a parting gift from Rywik. She explained how the small creatures they saw in the glass grew, not only in broth or on meat, but also in living tissue. “Some of these tiny creatures are quite benign; others cause terrible diseases such as gangrene.”

  
“But how?” Kiros asked her.

  
“I do not know. But I do know that if you take samples of gangrenous tissue, you will find certain organisms there,” Angharad said. “They are a puzzle, but one we shall solve someday. Meanwhile, we can at least identify and categorize these tiny creatures. If we keep track of which accompany which disease, we may be able to use it as a diagnostic tool.”

  
 She saw little of Nathaniel in the days that followed. He was either out on patrol or organizing his expedition to the Deep Roads. They occasionally saw one another in the dining hall. Angharad was usually with his squad and some others at dinner, so they engaged in brief, polite exchanges. He came in once to resupply his pack for their next patrol, but others were present so there was no time to talk.

   
About three weeks after their conversation in the courtyard, Angharad found a note on her pillow. It was dated and sealed with Nathaniel’s family crest.

  
Meet me at the gate at sunset.  Expect to be gone for two nights.  
N.

  
Angharad told Kiros and Leilien that she was going to be gone and asked them to take turns sleeping in the infirmary so that someone would be on hand for the patients. Then she packed her carry bag. She tended to her work until sunset and went to the gate. Nathaniel was not there, so she walked on through. Angharad walked across the bridge to the road beyond.  There, just out of sight was Nathaniel with a horse. He mounted and pulled Angharad up behind him. They rode a long while, and twilight was almost upon them when they reached an inn just on the far side of a village, nestled near a small lake. Angharad could see the swans gliding in the distance in the pale ribbon of daylight thinning out the horizon. 

  
Nathaniel helped her down from the horse, dismounted and turned to her. “Give me your hand.” She started to give him her right hand, but he nodded, “The left one Angharad.”

  
Angharad gave him her left hand and he took a ring from his pocket. He slipped it on her finger. It fit rather well. He dropped a quick kiss on her hand, and they walked inside the inn. The innkeeper seemed to be expecting them, for he took them upstairs immediately. The room was small but well-appointed with a nice fire going in the hearth and two chairs before it. There was also a comfortable looking bed. Now that they were here, Angharad felt a little nervous. It had been so long.  
“You are very quiet,” Nathaniel said to her coming up behind her to wrap his arms about her waist and drop a kiss on her neck. “No misgivings?” He asked.

  
“It isn’t that.” She turned around in his arms. “I just don’t want to disappoint.”

  
For the first time in a long time, she saw Nathaniel smile. “Angharad, you have hurt, infuriated, confused, and inflamed me. You have enchanted, charmed, and delighted me. But never in all these years have you disappointed me.” 

  
He took her by the hand, drew her over to the bed and sat down. They sat beside one another removing boots, shoes, and stockings. Nathaniel turned her round again and loosened the ties of her surcotte. Angharad undid the buckles of his cuirass. Nathaniel, ever neat and orderly, took the time to lay out his armor by the bedside.  Angharad gathered her things and put them on top of a chest and the poured out a mug of ale for Nathaniel, carrying it to him as he stood at the fireplace; hand on the mantle, gazing into the flames.

   
He was down to his breeches and he made a lovely sight to her eyes as he stood there. Nathaniel was in full flower of his manhood, his muscles tight and chiseled; his waist was lean as were his hips. Miles and miles of daily patrols kept him conditioned; fighting and training kept him strong. His beautifully honed machine of a body would have been enough for many men, for most perhaps; but Nathaniel also had a lean and hungry mind that required exercise and training as well. He preferred to read about real things, learn new facts and theories about his universe, though the occasional poem or song would touch him. It wasn’t that he didn’t see possibilities, he did. Nathaniel was a fine strategist, quick to see how a battle might be won, or how best to get new equipment or training for his unit. Esoteric possibilities held little interest for him, though. Nathaniel had little time for what may have been or might be in terms of the Maker or Man’s inhumanity to elf or dwarf. He put his imagination toward keeping himself and his crew alive and the fight against the darkspawn moving forward.  She used to be hurt by his “that’s nonsense,” or “you’re being foolish.” Now, she understood that it was his way of calling her back to the here and now, the place he needed to be to stay alive.

  
Angharad stood admiring for a moment longer and then handed him his ale and took down his wind braids. She combed out his hair before combing her own. It was a ritual now, this loosening of the hair. It was a small act of intimacy. It was a token of her willingness to be his helpmeet, her desire to be with him in all things however small.

  
The two of them did not speak but rather stood in front of the fire, he finishing his ale and she sipping from a cup of cider. Finally, Nathaniel set his mug on the mantle and took Angharad’s cup from her hands. 

  
“Come, Angharad.” 

  
The two of them climbed into the bed and lay down; Angharad snuggled against his left side as she was wont to do.  It was like coming home. She could hear his heart thrum in his chest and feel the blood pulse. Nathaniel turned on his side toward Angharad and began a slow exploration of her body. He was a man who preferred to savor when he could. He slowly traced the line of her neck and shoulder with his right hand, while his lips found hers. Angharad’s mouth parted a little at the touch of his lips and she could taste his desire beneath the taste of the ale he’d consumed. His own breathing quickened in response, and his hand traveled to push her chemise down so that he could trace the line of her collar bone and follow the pathway to her breast. As his hand found its rounded form, she leaned back and opened her eyes so that she could see as well as feel him.. Her nipple was already erect in response to his hand, and the firelight cast flickers of golden light on her skin and his strong fingers. His mouth found her nipple and he sucked. Her body arched in response, and she gasped. They were moving quickly, too quickly, and she wanted to give as well as get. She gently pushed him back,  drew her chemise over her head and put her hands on his chest. “My turn,” she whispered, pushing him back against the pillows.

  
Angharad used the tips of her fingers to trace a pathway over his chest which she followed with her tongue and teeth. She teased his nipples until they stood erect and then moved to his belly button. Nathaniel bucked involuntarily as she explored that space with her tongue while her fingertips ran slowly beneath the band of his breeches. In slow movement, she had his breeches removed and was running her hands back up his legs. She giggled as his eyes flew open and locked on hers at the barest of touches. She leaned in and kissed his mouth again and moved her hand lower, but he took hold of her wrist, saying, “Maker’s breath, woman, I only have so much control.”  

  
Angharad laughed once more only to stop as Nathaniel kissed her again and rolled her onto her back. Now it was his turn to tease her, to kiss her belly and hip bone, to feather the inside of her thigh. Their eyes met: question met with answer and they joined together. At some point, Nathaniel rolled onto his back so that he could watch Angharad as he pleasured her. Their eyes met and held until Angharad was too swept up in the feeling. She closed her eyes gave herself over to the ecstasy of the moment. When she collapsed on his chest, Nathaniel held her close, murmuring softly before changing places with her. “Hold me, love,” he said.

   
She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he finished, held him close as he rested on her breast, still too lost in the feeling to move. Kissing where she could, she whispered, “That was lovely. You are lovely.”  

He started to move. “Stay,” she begged, “Stay a moment longer, love.” Nathaniel relaxed against her once more.

  
When they had recovered, Angharad and Nathaniel began again, more playful, more experimental, testing one another’s limits until fatigue made more love play impossible. They gathered their bed linens and pillows which were by now scattered about the room, and they remade the bed. Nathaniel and Angharad crawled in together, they lay like spoons, and Nathaniel rested his chin on Angharad’s head. It felt good. It felt like home. They slept.

  
They spent the next day exploring the land around the inn. The Marches were much greener than Ferelden and warmer. Nathaniel dispensed with his armor, and Angharad wore a simple gown. They talked of inconsequential things, the good meal the innkeeper had provided, home, and the last letter Nathaniel received from Delilah describing Liam’s freehold. They spoke of Etienne and his Giselle, who were still together at Weisshaupt. Nathaniel did not ask about Angharad’s training as a mage. It hurt a little, but she understood. That wound would take time healing. Best to leave it alone.

  
At supper that night, Angharad broached the subject of his Expedition. “Nathaniel, I know that I cannot go with you, but you must promise me one thing,” she said as they sat before the fire.

  
“I cannot promise until you tell me what it is, Angharad.” He said, tearing a piece of chicken off the bone. 

  
“When you are ready to actually go into the Deep Roads, please send word to Delilah?  Even if you must hire a messenger specifically to carry the letter back to her? Please?” Angharad asked.

  
“I don’t understand, Angharad. I can see the logic of telling someone when we actually descend into the Road but why my sister?” He inquired.

  
Angharad shook her head. “I don’t know why. But I know it is important. Trust me in this, please. Trust that the Sight, what little of it there was, is real.  I won’t ask for more if you will promise me this.” 

  
Nathaniel took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it. “I will do as you ask.”

  
Angharad made herself smile. “Good. Now, there is a very fine pastry here. Would you like some dessert?”

  
Later, as they lay in bed together, Nathaniel kissed her mouth and said, “Today was a good day.”

  
“Yes. It was a good day. It felt like home for a time.”

  
“You think of the Vigil as home, Angharad?” Nathaniel asked her caressing her cheek.

   
“I do. Mama and papa both died there. I found some use for myself there.” Angharad touched his chin and his mouth with her fingertips. “I love healing almost as much as I do you. To ease someone’s suffering, to cure a disease, to close a wound, set a bone; these are all things that give me great joy. I was happy to come to this outpost even when I thought we would never be together again because I would once again be able to use my skills. To be with you again—it makes it all complete.”

  
Nathaniel kissed her fingers. “I have so little to give you, anwylaf.”

  
“We give each other what we have to give, my love. We give ourselves. I ask no more than that.” 

  
“I don’t want to hide, to pretend that you mean nothing to me.” Nathaniel sat up staring ahead. “Someday, I want,” his voice trailed off.

  
“Nathaniel, I told you long ago that they can brand me a whore for all I care. I don’t want to hide either, I love you.”

  
He frowned. “Then, we won’t hide, love. Stroud will not be pleased, but you are too valuable to be sent away. So, we’ll walk in together?

”   
“Yes, proudly, with a glad heart.” Angharad smiled. “It will be all right, Nate. It will be fine.”


	10. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad stands up for herself. Nathaniel and Carver leave for the Deep Roads. Angharad keeps an old promise,

Chapter Ten  
Departures

  
Nathaniel and Angharad rode back to the outpost the next morning. By unspoken consent, they walked through the gates together, leading the horse to the stable.

Nathaniel kissed Angharad’s cheek, saying, “I go out on patrol this afternoon. I will see you in a few days.”

  
Angharad kissed him back and started to remove the ring from her hand, but Nathaniel stopped her, and gently pushed the ring back on her finger. “I hope you will wear this, Angharad. It was my mother’s ring, given to her by her mother and father. It was hers before she was betrothed; and for some reason, she entrusted it to me

. I wish you to have it,” Nathaniel told her.

   
“Are you certain?” She asked softly.

  
His answer was to kiss her palm. “I have to report in, anwylaf. See you, love.”

  
Angharad watched him walk away and returned to her infirmary and went to work.

  
The guards who saw Nathaniel and Angharad walk into the outpost together told the guards who took their place on watch. They also told the blacksmith and the groom, who told them about their being together in the barn. This was added to the tale and by dinner time, the entire post, with the exception of those still out on patrol knew that something was going on between the Squad Captain and the post Physician. Angharad, who had missed the dinner hour because she was busy, did not realize that they were the subject of gossip.

   
Angharad changed for supper shortly after sundown and walked over to the hall to take her meal. When she walked into the hall things got very silent. Angharad wanted to turn around, throw her hands up and yell “What?” Instead, she filled her plate and sat down. She was partway through her meal when one of the Wardens came up and sat at her table. She didn’t know the man; he had not yet turned up in her infirmary.

   
“Word is you are the Captain’s woman. That true?” He asked.

  
Angharad ignored him, but he reached out and took hold of her wrist.

  
“That true?” He repeated, looking around at his mates, making sure that they were watching.

  
“Do not do this. You wish to have fun at my expense, but I will not allow it. Please let it go,” Angharad asked.

  
“Well, I thought, with your man in the field, that maybe you might be lonely. Want some company?,” He sneered.

  
Angharad dropped her spoon and looked into his face, her eyebrow arched in a questioning look.  “Before I answer that question, Warden, let me ask you one. When you are injured in combat, who do you think is the person who will heal you?”

  
“You, maybe, or your servants,” He replied, his eyes narrowing.

  
“Assistants, not servants,” Angharad clarified. “Now let us suppose that you and your mates are injured in a mighty battle. Five, six of you, all injured at once, badly injured, beyond the help of a kit or a potion. If you continue to insult me, what place in line will you have when it is time to treat you?  Do you think I will tend to you first? Or perhaps I may decide that everyone else, including the mabari who patrols with you, deserves to be tended to before you are.” 

  
Angharad let him think about it for a moment and then continued. “You see, Warden, you think you are the only person who breaks rules. Perhaps you should reconsider that assumption. Now, as to your question. You never, in a thousand eons, could possibly take Howe’s place in my life or my bed. Now let go my hand and go away.”

  
The man tightened his grip.

  
Angharad said. “Last chance. Turn loose.”

  
When he did not let go, Angharad smashed him in the face with her left palm, and when he let go of her wrist to grab for his nose, she stood and rocked the bench backward, toppling her assailant to the floor. Angharad moved free of the bench and dropped back to the main corridor at the end of the tables where she had more room to move. When he started to stand up, she said, “Had enough Warden?”

  
 In answer, he rushed her. Angharad simply moved quickly out of his way, knitting her two hands together and using them to hit him in the kidney as he passed. She whirled around and set her stance. Angharad saw the glitter of metal and realized that he’d drawn a knife. He came at her again. Angharad used her crossed wrists to block the knife arm, then she slid her left hand to his elbow and her right hand to his wrist, pushing up on the elbow and down on the wrist, twisting the knife hand behind him. Now his own knife was pointed at his back. Angharad had only to push on his hand—she was grabbed from behind and dragged away.

   
She struggled until she saw that the Warden was being restrained as well. Stroud walked up to them both.

  
“Who started this?” Angharad stayed silent, the only sound was her breathing as it slowed. Stroud turned to the man. “Sims, who started this?”

   
Sims looked at her and then looked at the Commander. “I did messer. I grabbed her wrist and wouldn’t let go, and then I pulled a knife.”

  
“I see. And what brought all this on?” Stroud asked Sims, but before he could answer, Angharad said, “It was a Warden fight, messer. Nothing to be concerned with. It’s over.” She looked at Sims with a lifted eyebrow.

  
“She’s right, Commander. It’s over.” Sims nodded his head.

  
Stroud paused. He knew very well what the squabble was about. He’d overheard the gossip all day long. But when Angharad declared it a Warden fight and Sims agreed; it was, by tradition, a closed matter, both sides willing to let it go.

   
“Very well. Angharad, carry on. Sims, two days punishment duty for initiating an altercation in the hall.”

   
Sims nodded. He’d expected the punishment. It was common for the person starting the conflict to be reprimanded or worse.

  
Angharad watched him leave with the two Wardens who had restrained him. With studied casualness, Angharad righted the bench, picked up her overturned bowl, mug, and spoon from the floor and put them in the tub for the dirties. Then she got herself a fresh helping of supper and sat back down, hiding her hands so no one could see them shake.

  
She could hear the murmurs. “…no magic. Just…just skill, I guess.” 

  
“Well consider her teacher.”

   
“Teachers….hero…” Angharad looked up to find two female wardens approaching her. “May we sit down?” They asked.

   
“Please,” Angharad said. “It’ll be a nice change from all the rampant maleness.”

   
They giggled. “Name’s Theodosia, but my squad mates call me Teddy,” the tiny redhead said as she sat down opposite Angharad.

   
“And I am Kariel,” the tall willowy brunette added, also taking a seat.

   
“Before you ask, Nathaniel and I are together. We have been for many years; that is when the Order allows us the opportunity,” Angharad said. “Most of the time we are on different duty assignments.”

  
The two women looked at one another. “Well that explains a great deal,” Kariel said. “I think just about every woman on post has tried to seduce the Captain. We were beginning to think he wasn’t interested at all. But that isn’t why we are here.”

   
“No, we wondered if you would be willing to work with us on that fighting style of yours. It would come in very handy in the field, in more ways than one. Most of the lads are respectful, but there are some that need to be put in their place from time to time,” Teddy said.

  
“My apologies for assuming I knew your question. I know many are wondering. However, I would be happy to work with you, if you will show me your techniques as well.” She sipped her cider, then she added, “You never know when someone else’s trick will come in handy.”

  
Kariel leaned in. “I heard you know Rywik, the Hero of Ferelden. Is he really as good looking as his portrait?”

  
Angharad leaned closer to the two women. “Every bit as good looking. He is a very handsome elf. His hair is very dark but his skin is pale and his eyes are green. Very green.  She said, telling a tale that she knew the women would love. “While my heart and loyalty are only Nathaniel’s, I have heard the testimony of many a woman who has been in the Hero’s bed. He is supposed to be quite—proficient!”

  
The women laughed, and Angharad smiled. Rywik would be amused to know that is prowess now extended to the bedroom as well as the battlefield. The legend would grow over time, she knew, and his reputation would only grow more proficient with each telling. Sometimes, the smallest paybacks were the best.

  
Nathaniel came back in from patrol two days after the incident. Upon hearing the tale of Angharad’s response to Sims’ provocation, he went to see her immediately. She was in the infirmary holding clinic hours and was examining one of the Wardens when he arrived. Nathaniel waited patiently for her to finish. Angharad came over to where he stood, and he deliberately took her hand in front of the men. “Is there anything I need do with regard to Warden Sims?”

   
Angharad shook her head. “We agreed it was a Warden thing, Nathaniel. I truly believe it is over.”

   
“Say the word, Angharad, and I will deal with him.” 

  
“I am certain that you would, but it is not necessary.”

  
Nathaniel brushed her lips with a kiss and a murmured, “I love you, you know. I had better go and report to the Commander. I am certain he will have something to say about all this.”

  
The Commander did indeed have much to say about it all, and none of it was pleasant. He wound down with, “You have allowed your personal life to interfere with your mission!”

  
“Excuse me, messer, but the only thing that has changed is that my fellow Wardens now know that I have a personal life! Angharad and I have known each other for four years, messer. She has never come between me and my duty.”

  
“You know about the altercation in the hall?”

   
“I understand that Angharad settled the matter quite effectively. And you and I both know that female Wardens run into these issues from time to time. It is simply an additional obstacle that they deal with, usually most capably.”

  
Stroud sighed deeply. He could order them both not to see each other, but Stroud suspected that this would only be subverted. Initially, he’d opposed having Angharad come to the Marches. The Wardens were well aware of Nathaniel’s and Angharad’s relationship, thanks to Rywik; and Stroud had not wanted the additional difficulties this would bring. But when it became apparent that Gorrig was failing, he’d had no choice. Angharad’s management of the infirmary was excellent. Stroud did not deny this, but she was a distraction for his most talented leader. He disliked complications such as this. It made things chaotic, and Stroud disliked chaos. He turned to another subject. “When will you be ready to leave for Ferelden?”

  
“I have sent to Kirkwall to book passage for Carver and me to leave as soon as possible, messer. Everything at this end is arranged. I’ve sent word ahead to the Vigil, and I believe that the people I wish to engage for this expedition are available. It will merely be a matter of gathering the explosives and other items available at the Vigil and returning with them. I plan to go directly from Amaranthine to Kirkwall and from there to the Deep Roads entrance,” Nathaniel explained.

  
“Then you’ve managed to find the entrance?”

   
“Yes, messer. The dwarf who went insane drew us a map. We used it to find the entrance. We now know exactly where it is located,” Nathaniel replied.  
“Good. How long do you expect to be gone?”

  
“I’m planning for a minimum of three months, messer. My understanding is that it takes two weeks to reach the thaig from the entrance, so merely going to and fro will consume a month,” Nathaniel said. “That allows us two months for excavation and exploration.”

  
“This is good. Let me know when you’ve booked passage.”

  
“Yes, messer.” 

  
“Dismissed, Captain.”

   
Nathaniel left the room.

  
He and Angharad shared supper together and afterward, as they were walking about the courtyard, Angharad said, “You know, Nathaniel, this is the way our lives will be. You and I will live it in letters, and in rooms that are not ours. We will spend a few days together and part, only to find one another again. We will always be going to and fro, hither and yon. We’re going to be experts at saying goodbye.”

  
“Does that distress you, anam cara?” Nathaniel asked her as he twined his fingers through hers.

  
“Only a little. Not enough to make a difference. That is just the way it will be.” She changed the subject. “You leave for Ferelden soon, and you will see home again. I envy you the journey to the Vigil. You must carry notes for me to friends there.”

   
“Gladly,” Nathaniel told her wrapping an arm about her waist. “Anything I can bring you?”

  
“Gillyflowers. They should be in bloom. Or you can purchase dried ones in the market at Amaranthine. It is just that I need their scent, and they do not seem to grow here.”

  
“As my lady commands.” He kissed her mouth lightly.

  
 “As my lord wills,” Angharad responded when he let her speak.

   
“Sweeting, do you think we could sneak into your room?” Nathaniel whispered into Angharad’s ear. She nodded and they slipped in. Nathaniel stealthed his way out some time before dawn.

  
***

  
Stroud took Nathaniel and Carver off the patrol roster as they waited for word of which ship they were to take for Amaranthine. Pæter took charge of the squad once more. Word came that they were to sail in three days. Given that they were a day and a half out from Kirkwall, it meant that they would have to leave the next morning.   
Nathaniel warned Carver that the squad would do their best to get him drunk. “Drunk or no, we leave at dawn tomorrow,” Nathaniel told him. “No complaining if you do so with a hangover.”

  
“Ayah. Messer, thank you for the warning.”

  
That night, Nathaniel did not get drunk, but he did sing. Some of the Wardens could play instruments and so there was music and singing as Nathaniel’s squad did their best to get Carver besotted. The squad did a pretty good job of inebriating Carver. As they half carried, half dragged him out of the hall and toward his bunk, Nathaniel said, “Make certain he’s ready to go at dawn.”

   
“Ayah, Captain.  He’ll be ready.”

  
As Angharad and Nathaniel walked across the courtyard, Angharad teased him about the singing. “You have a nice tenor, Nathaniel.”

  
“I actually am somewhat fond of music and singing; but these are not qualities that are particularly prized by the Wardens unless one is quite drunk or getting there.”  
Angharad laughed and leaned against his arm as they approached her clinic. She had no one who was wounded or ill enough to require hospitalization, so they had the building to themselves. They helped each other undress. They sat on the bed together. Angharad undid Nathaniel’s braids and combed out his hair. Then she turned around and he combed hers.  “Your hair is growing,” He mentioned as he drew the comb through her hair.

   
“You like it long?” She asked him over her shoulder as he continued to comb her hair. Nathaniel leaned forward and kissed her bare back. “I like you.” He murmured against her skin “Long hair, short hair, doesn’t matter.” He tasted her skin with his tongue. Angharad shuddered a little under his touch.  He laughed softly against her skin.  “Does this please you, Angharad?”

  
“Yes.” She whispered as his hands came round from behind to explore her. “Very much.”

  
Later, much later, Angharad got up from the bed and opened her trunk. She withdrew a small box. Nathaniel was already asleep, so she opened the box and withdrew the ring from inside.  It was a man’s ring, simple except for the runes inscribed on both the interior and exterior of the band. They were Avaaran symbols. The ring was very old. Angharad slipped the ring on Nathaniel’s finger. The runes glowed blue very briefly and then the ring was quiet. It fit well.

  
Later, when Nathaniel woke and got up to dress. Angharad rose, took Nathaniel’s hand and showed him the ring. “What is this?” He asked.

   
“This was my father’s, and his father’s, and his father’s. It has been passed down for generations. My father had no living son to give this to, but I know he would be proud to have you wear it.” Angharad paused, suddenly a little shy. “Um, it is yours forever if you wish. But if you do not, I ask that you wear it until you return to me.”  
Nathaniel took her in his arms and held her tight. “Anwylaf, I will always wear it.” He kissed her gently once more. “When I return anam cara, we really must speak about getting married.”

  
Angharad smiled. “Married? I thought that was not possible.”

  
Nathaniel smiled as well. “Between you and me, all things are possible. I must go, Angharad. I will write.”

  
“Maker turn his gaze on you, Nathaniel."

  
“And you, beloved.” With that he was gone.

   
Angharad managed to hold her tears until he was out of earshot. Later, when Nathaniel and Carver were on their way to Kirkwall, Angharad took the letter she had written to Delilah so many weeks ago and posted it. It read

:  
Delilah:  
Nathaniel is going on an expedition to the Deep Roads. There are people and equipment that he must retrieve from the Vigil to make the expedition possible. While he is in Ferelden, he plans to visit your son’s freehold and see how you are. I have asked him to send word to you when he actually enters the Deep Roads. If my letter reaches you before he does, please ask him to do the same. It is critical.  
 Delilah, when you receive word that he has gone into the Road, you must come to Kirkwall and meet me near the stairs of the Viscount’s palace. We must find the Champion of Kirkwall, Miri Hawke, and beg her to find Nathaniel; for by the time we see one another again, he will be in danger and in need of assistance. Please Delilah, as you love him, help me save him.  I enclose an exchequer’s mark for ten gold to help with your passage across the Waking Sea.  
I love him too.   
Angharad

  
Once the letter was on its way, Angharad waited. While she waited, she taught Kiros and Leilien as much as she could about her craft. They both were intelligent and caring healers. The men, reluctant at first to trust the elves, had learned to do so. This was a good thing. 

  
It was somewhat ironic that Sims’ patrol came in particularly hard hit, and more ironic that he was one of the badly wounded. Angharad saw to him herself. He had a nasty stomach wound, much worse than Nathaniel’s had been, but fortunately for Sims, she had healing magic to add to good nursing and wound care. She flooded him with healing, knitting flesh back together, cleaning the wound, giving him medicines to strengthen his immune system. As he had the most critical wound, she saw to him first before tending the others.  
A few days later, when it was clear that Sims would live, he asked her as she came to examine his healing wound, “Would you really have made me wait until last?”  
“No, of course not. I pretended. The patient with the worst wound still capable of healing gets treated first. That’s my rule. I would never have made you wait out of spite.”

  
“You shame me, Healer. I was wrong to torment you that night.”

  
“It was a Warden thing, Sims. But in future I would suggest that you do not judge a woman’s heart by whether or not she is chaste. Andraste reminded us that we must look to the result of a man or woman’s action to know the good or evil of it. A woman may be sullied and still be good.”

  
Sims looked puzzled. “But the brothels…”

  
“May I tell you a tale of the brothels?”

  
Sims looked at her wild-eyed.

   
“I swear that you could tell it to your sister and not blush,” Angharad insisted. “Once upon a time, not so very long ago, a beautiful child was born to very, very poor parents. Now they loved their beautiful child very much, but they had other children, not so pretty, who were starving to death. When it became apparent to the parents that they could watch all their children die or they could sacrifice one child for the sake of the others, they made a decision. It was a terrible, horrible, wrenching, guilt-ridden decision but the sort that must be made in terrible times. When you are very poor or much oppressed, your choices are few.

   
So, they took their beautiful child and sold that child to the best, most expensive whorehouse that would buy. The parents knew they would get a little more coin at a good place and their child would be better treated there—at least they hoped. So, the child was sold. It is not called slavery, for it is considered servitude for room and board, but it is slavery, for there is no way to buy one’s freedom for one’s self.

  
But our beautiful child was fortunate. A client desired the child above all others and purchased that child as his toy. He dressed that child in fine clothing and paraded that child around the high court of a very powerful kingdom. The child, who was beautiful as well as smart learned many things and grew up accomplished. But as the child became an adult, the owner grew tired. The child was no longer a child and was no longer attractive to the man. He threw his discarded toy into the street to live or die on its own.”

  
“You are making this up!” Sims said, incredulous.

  
“No. I am not. It is a true tale. A tale like this happens every day in our world to children,” Angharad said.

  
“Go on, messer,” one of the other men said.

  
“Very well.”

  
“The child, now an adult, grew into a beautiful, person, inside and out. And despite the years of being used, being petted and then being discarded, the person never lost hope, never gave up. I met this person on a journey, and we became fast friends. My friend has taught me many things about how it is between men and women—not about what you are thinking!” Angharad looked at the men, who laughed at that. “My friend taught me that goodness is not the sole province of chastity, and virtue can be the armor of a whore,” Angharad smiled and added, “Although his or her best shield is a loving and optimistic heart, and the ability to play Wicked Grace.”  
“I’ve known some very evil souls who are prostitutes,” Sims argued.

  
“I do not ask you to be a fool for a prostitute; after all most are very sharp businessmen and women, and they have lived hard lives and do not trust easily. I merely suggest that you judge each individual in your life for themselves.”

  
“What happened to the child?”  Sims asked.

  
“My friend found someone with a heart just as loving and giving. And they seem happy together. They love each other, both know each other’s stories, and they are accepting of each other’s foibles. My friend has reached safe harbor, and I am glad.”

   
Very softly, just to Sims, she said, “Whoever hurt you so was wrong. But you must forgive—not for their sake—but for your own.”   
Sims’ eyes grew sad. “You see so much.”

  
“My father used to call me his saga, a seer. I have only a glimpse, but I may tell you more if you will allow.” He nodded. She took his hands, closed her eyes and stepped into Sims’ life. Not an evil man, just a hard one who used a hardened heart to shield himself from further pain. But there were one or two chances ahead for a measure of happiness and joy.

   
“A woman in Kirkwall. She sells in the Lowtown market, an assistant to Lady Elegant.  Brown hair, brown eyes, kind face, soft spirit, bonny voice. She comes from the Chasind long ago when still a child. You’ve seen her there. She’s seen you, but she is too shy to speak, and you are too suspicious.” Angharad looked at Sims. “She is called Bronwyn. She likes violets and the color of violets.” Angharad came back to the present. “Ah. Not much more to tell. She would care for if you will let her. Get well, Sims’ be well.”

  
Angharad moved to the next man. And so, it went. She discharged her patients a few days later, and was back to clinic hours. She waited, a knapsack packed and ready. Still, she waited. When it came, it was in the early hours of the morning.

   
Angharad dressed and put on her traveling clothes. Rywik had given her a fine set of leathers as a going away present all those months ago, the Battledress of the Provocateur, and Ghillie Brogues. She strapped on her knives and took up a staff of the Primal Order. Then she went to Stroud’s private quarters and knocked on the door, repeatedly.

  
Stroud, who had been deeply asleep, finally woke up. “Un moment!” He fumbled for and found the flint and struck it until he was able to light the lamp by his bed. He found his pants and pulled them on. “Entrer!” He said at last.

  
Angharad opened the door. “Commander? A moment, please?”

  
“Do you know what time it is?” Stroud asked. “Never mind. I don’t even know what time it is. What do you want?” He rubbed his face trying to wake up.  
“Nathaniel and Carver are in trouble. I must go.” 

  
“Pardonne?” Stroud asked. “You aren’t making much sense.”

  
Angharad took a deep breath. “I know. My apologies. Nathaniel and Carver have just been ambushed in the Deep Roads. They are cut off from the surface. I need to go and find the Champion of Kirkwall to help save them.”

  
“And you know this, how?” Stroud asked her sitting down on the side of his bed. “Never mind. I remember. You see things. You are certain about this?”  
“Yes. Commander. I need to go.” Angharad assured him.

  
“Then go. When you return, please make a report. Now get out of my bedroom and let me sleep.” Before she got out the door, he added. “Bring back my squad captain in one piece, please. Maker turn his gaze on you, Physician.”

  
Angharad made it to Kirkwall with little trouble. The number of bandits on the Wounded Coast were quite diminished. She saw only the guards and some travelers on her way to the city. At the gate, she presented the papers that King Alistair had given her declaring her his special envoy.

   
Unlike before, however, she was not allowed to directly enter the City. Instead, she was made to take a boat across the harbor to the Gallows. Things had certainly changed in Kirkwall since the Viscount’s death. Though the flood of Ferelden refugees had ended long ago, Meredith, the Knight Commander of the Kirkwall Templars now controlled the city, and she ordered that all travelers pass through the Gallows portals before crossing the harbor to the city proper.  Before she could take the smaller boat back to the city, Angharad was made to present her papers to a Templar who was much less friendly than the guard at the gate. But a royal seal is a royal seal and she was allowed to pass.

  
Before she could cross the harbor, however, there was something that she promised Rywik she would do when she reached Kirkwall. Forcing herself to the task, Angharad went up the stairs and into the Gallows proper.

   
The stench of fear and suffering almost overwhelmed her, but Angharad knew she must show nothing, react to nothing. These were not the Templars of Ferelden, not the knights who truly did justice and provided protection for their mages. Many of these Templars were the servants of Hakkon Wintersbreath. They worshiped him and wore death as they wore their armor, with pride. 

  
Courage, Angharad, they smell fear as the Dread Wolf smells the hart. Rywik’s voice reminded her. She began reciting the chant against fear in her head and her heart rate and breathing slowed. Angharad looked about the courtyard. There, on the far side, she saw the man that she was asked to find. It was one of the few memories that Rywik had shared with her from his quest to end the Blight. It was a memory of a young Templar, caught in a force field of magic, frightened and tortured by a blood mage abomination. The man was older now, but still the same man. She walked up to him. “Knight-Captain Cullen?”

  
“Yes, miss?” The Knight Captain turned her way.

  
Angharad nodded her head in greeting. “I bring you word from an old acquaintance.”  She told him softly. Angharad handed him the note, sealed with Rywik’s griffon seal. “This is from a Grey Warden who remembers you. He asked me to give you this.” 

  
Cullen, who had little use for mysteries, would have sent the stranger on her way except for the seal. He recognized the griffon as the Grey Warden symbol. Cullen opened the note, read it and then studied Angharad’s face quite carefully. What has Rywik done? Angharad thought to herself.  On the surface, though, she remained calm and unconcerned. 

  
“How do you know the Hero of Ferelden?” The Knight Captain asked her, jumping to the obvious conclusion, but one that Angharad did not want him to find.  
“I was Apothecary and Surgeon to the Vigil at the time I met him. I was sent to study herb lore and medicine under his tutelage. Aside from being a powerful mage, the Hero knows a great deal about medicine,” Angharad replied quite truthfully. “I was privileged to be his student.”

  
Cullen’s face cleared. “Ah, I see. Thank you for carrying this note to me.”

  
Angharad waited a moment and said. “He asked me to remain with you until you dismissed me, messer. Am I to carry any word back to him?”

  
“No, miss. You have fulfilled your task. Please, you are dismissed to go your way.”

  
Angharad nodded once more. “Maker turn his gaze on you, Captain.” 

  
“And on you, miss,” Cullen replied.

   
Angharad turned and went down the steps to the harbor dock in time to find a boatman to carry her across the harbor. She had no more idea of what Rywik was up to than before, but at least she was away from that dread place that stank of death and old evil. When she landed at the docks, Angharad made the long climb up the stairs to the Hanged Man in Lowtown. To her relief, Angharad was able to find shelter there. She took a room for a week. Then, after eating a meal, she climbed more steps to Hightown and went in search of the Viscount’s Way. Happily, Delilah was already there, waiting. Angharad ran to her and hugged her old friend. “Delilah, how long have you been here waiting for me?”  

  
“This is the second day,” Delilah said. “I did as you asked. When I received the message that Nathaniel was going into the Deep Roads, I came at once. Can you tell me what is going on?”

  
Angharad studied the steps and realized that they were different from the ones she saw in her vision. “Yes, “Angharad said, taking her friend’s arm, “But these aren’t the right steps. We must find the Chantry. Come, Delilah, every moment counts.” 

  
The two women asked directions to the Chantry courtyard. They had been wise to do so, for Kirkwall was a maze of awkward streets that zigzagged and ended in courtyards and went nowhere. “A long time ago, an old woman told me that I must find the Lady Hawk to save Nathaniel. It wasn’t until the Qunari uprising in this city, that I realized that the Lady Hawk was Miri Hawke, who was to become the Champion of Kirkwall.”

  
“Who told you?” Delilah asked as they walked to the courtyard of the Chantry.

  
“Asha’bellanar, the woman of many years,” Angharad replied. They had reached the Chantry square.

  
“Is that not the Elven name for Flemeth?” Delilah said, “The Witch of the Wilds?”

  
“Yes, although I don’t really know what she is, Delilah, she showed me what I must do to save Nathaniel. I have no idea why she chooses to rescue him, but she does choose. Be grateful.”

  
There was no one in the courtyard for the moment, except for the Chantry sister.

   
“So how is Liam?” Angharad asked as she tried to think of something other than Nathaniel’s being trapped.

  
“He was thrilled to see his uncle before making his journey to Highever to be fostered by the Teyrn. Nathaniel gave him a set of blades. I believe they were used by our father when he was a younger and saner man. I did as you asked. For some reason, I did not show Nathaniel your letter. I assumed that had you wished him to know of your plans, you would have told him.”

  
Angharad bit her lip. “Nathaniel will be very angry when he discovers what I have done. He told me that I could not go on this expedition.”

  
“Angharad! Why would you do that? Nathaniel must have had good cause to tell you no.” Delilah said to her.

  
“I have to be certain that he makes it out of that terrible place.”

    
“Ah. Angharad,” Delilah murmured.

  
Angharad felt rather than saw the Champion’s approach. She was a very powerful mage, and she radiated that power outward like a signal. Angharad turned to face the Champion, who by now, had stopped as well. Angharad folded back her hood so that Miri Hawke could see her face clearly. 

  
Miri Hawke was a stunningly beautiful woman. Unlike Carver who had black hair, Miri Hawke’s hair was the color of a young child’s, pale gold, almost but not quite silver. Her eyes were the lightest grey Angharad had ever seen, so light, that sometimes it seemed as though she had no iris at all. She appeared delicate; long slender fingers, slender neck, high cheekbones, straight nose, small but determined chin. Miri Hawke held many in thrall simply by being so beautiful. What made her even more attractive was the fact that she took no notice of her own beauty. Her hair was caught up in a simple tail, the better to keep it safe from blowback from fire spells, Angharad suspected.

  
“This is she, Delilah. Go to her.”

  
Delilah approached the Champion. “Mistress Hawke, I must speak with you. You are the only one who can help. The Wardens have mounted an expedition into the Deep Roads following your route.  It is a fool’s errand, and my brother, Nathaniel Howe is with them.”

  
“Nathaniel?  Well, put me in a dress and call me a Templar! How is the old boy?” Anders said.

  
“He’s missing, sirrah!  Haven’t you been listening?” Delilah replied, angered by the man’s offhand manner.

  
Miri Hawke looked to Angharad and nodded her head once.  “Come with me, everyone.  Let us go to my house where we may discuss this in private.”

  
They followed Miri Hawke to her estate in Hightown. Once inside, Hawke indicated chairs while servants brought wine and cider to drink.  Miri looked to Angharad.  “You are certain that they are in danger?”

  
“They were ambushed at around three in the morning a little over two days ago. Nathaniel is still alive and one or two others, but they won’t be for long.”  
Anders frowned. “Wait, you’re the servant girl from the Keep! The one who was so good with herbs. I hadn’t recognized you before but—”

  
“Please! We’re wasting time! You and I can discuss old times once Nathaniel is safe, Anders.” Angharad turned back to the Champion. “I told you this day was coming.” Angharad turned her left palm upward. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

  
Mistress Hawke looked at Angharad’s palm. “Yes. It was the symbol on an old amulet I delivered to the Dalish, long ago.” 

  
To everyone else Miri said, “We need to move. It is a long way to the entrance.” She went upstairs to put on armor.

  
Angharad turned to Delilah. “I have a room at the Hanged Man in Lowtown. Here, take the key and wait for Nathaniel there. I will send him to you so that you can assure yourself he is safe.  It’s relatively clean, and the cider’s not bad.” Angharad assured her. Delilah hugged Angharad. “Stay safe, my sister.  Be well.”

  
The Champion came down the stairs. “Come, we are wasting time. Let us go.”

  
They left the Hightown manor and made for the Coast Road.

 


	11. The Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad and the Champion of Kirkwall take a party into the Deep Roads to rescue Nathaniel.

Chapter Eleven  
The Deep Roads

  
Nathaniel tried to open his eyes but even in the dim light, the pain was blinding. It didn’t matter, though; he had to open his eyes.  He had to sit up.  Sit up Nathaniel! On three!  He counted in his head and managed to sit up at last. When he put his hand to his head because of the pain, it came away bloody. He looked around at the ground on which he’d been lying. Not much blood, that’s good! He felt his head once more. Ah, small gash almost stopped bleeding. Nathaniel felt for his weapons. He still had his bow, and there were arrows.

  
It was starting to come back to him. Where was Carver? Where were the rest? Nathaniel looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was much nearer the entrance than he had been. Why? Think, Nathaniel, think!  Whatever happened, the others were nowhere near him. They must be deeper in the road. 

  
Nathaniel took up his bow and quiver, and looked around once more. He found one of his daggers, and he still had a knife strapped to his wrist. He could feel either wardens or darkspawn nearby and began moving in the direction of the feeling. Fortunately, this part of the Deep Roads was still lit by lava channels and not completely dark as some areas were. The corridors were still relatively clean; there was little evidence of the Blight as yet. Their allies had said there would be few darkspawn in this area. That had either been mistaken intelligence or a deliberate trick to lure Wardens into the road and into an ambush.

   
Nathaniel continued to move toward the pull that he felt. He stealthed around a corner. Andraste’s ass! Not Wardens! There was a small-sized unit of darkspawn. Reaching to his side, Nathaniel felt the fletching on his arrows. He still had two poisoned tipped arrows along with about ten standard arrows. Maybe enough, maybe not.

  
Nathaniel studied the darkspawn unit ahead. They were led by an emissary, a Hurlock mage. Take him out first, then what? Nathaniel saw no ogres at this point. That was a good thing.  He counted five darkspawn. Take out the mage and then clean up the grunts. Try not to die in the process. Good plan. He nocked a poisoned arrow and let fly, catching the emissary directly in the chest. He smashed a chameleon pot which erupted in a cloud of dense smoke, obscuring him as he moved to a different position. The emissary was clearly wounded but not yet dead. He shot another arrow into the emissary and unloaded a third on a darkspawn grunt before moving to another position. He dropped behind a pillar and stealthed again, using the shadow to loose yet another arrow. He saw the emissary gathering energy for a spell. Andraste’s ass! Isn’t that dead yet? Nathaniel waited until the very last instant before the mage let loose and ducked behind a pillar. Even with the protection of stone, Nathaniel could still feel the spell drain life force from him.

  
As soon as the wave passed, Nathaniel shot another arrow at the emissary in time to see him finally drop. But now, he had the grunts on him. Nathaniel executed a back flip to move away from the three darkspawn who were after him. He used his last flask filled with a mixture that temporarily disoriented most creatures to buy himself enough time to fire more arrows. He brought down his knife from the wrist sheath and used it to stab the last monster to death. Nathaniel looted the bodies and retrieved his arrows. He paused for a moment to see if he could pick up any feelings of nearby Wardens or darkspawn. Sensing more, he began moving again in the direction of the feeling.

  
***

  
The long hike out of the city and back up the coast road did little to encourage conversation. Angharad concentrated on just staying with the fast-moving members of Hawke’s little band. They were an hour out of town before Hawke called a rest and everyone grabbed for their water flasks.

  
Anders, however, was too curious about Angharad’s transformation from servant girl at Vigil’s keep to mage to leave her be. He sat down next to her as they drank a swallow from their flasks. “Angharad, how came you all the way from the Vigil to here?” he askd. “And how did you lose the scar?”

   
“A wizard did it!” Angharad replied, using one of his favorite phrases. “I reinjured my cheek, and Rywik removed the scar while he was healing the wound.”  
“Rywik, former circle apprentice cum Hero of Ferelden? Maker’s breath, Angharad, how far have you traveled in so short a time?” 

  
“Farther than you would guess. I have always had the gift of Sight, ever since childhood. When reports reached Rywik, he suspected that I had other talents. The Wardens decided to send me to him to be trained. He was right.”

  
“I suspect that was a real pleasure!” Anders said sarcastically as he tucked his water flask away. “Rywik was never known for his gentle demeanor.”

  
“His methods were unusual but effective,” she agreed noncommittally as she put her things away as well.

  
“And how did you and Nathaniel become an item? I remember Nathaniel as a serious man who had little time for any sort of pleasure except the occasional mug of ale. How did he find you?” 

  
“That was, ironically, your doing. I was the one who stitched him back together after you injured him. Between my own knowledge of herbs, molds, and honey and the lessons you taught me, I was able to save him.” Angharad saw the look of shame on Anders’ face. “But then, it wasn’t really you who used the staff that day, was it?”

   
Angharad saw the barest of blue glimmers in Anders’ eyes. In a low voice, for his ears only, she whispered, “Spirit can you not leave him? You will be his death.”

  
“You will leave me be,” A voice returned. But it was not Anders’ it was the Fade spirit that had inhabited his body, once Justice, now something very different.

   
“I will say no more of it, spirit, save this: where is the justice for this mage that you possessed?” Angharad whispered. Anders began to grow a brighter blue. Angharad quietly turned over her left palm so that the spirit could see the mark there. “I am finished. Let there be peace between us.” The spirit withdrew deep within Anders once more, allowing him control of his own body again. To Anders, Angharad said, “I see how it is.”

  
“Then you know it is too late to change it.” Angharad nodded. 

  
“Come everyone, the road waits,” Miri directed.

  
Angharad and Anders rose, and she let him move ahead before beginning to walk.

   
The group continued to walk in silence toward the entrance.

   
Miri sent Fenris out on point while she dropped back to speak to Angharad. “I take it that you are a Saga. I’d not met anyone so gifted with the Sight before; but my father told me that there were mages who could sometimes see the future, could find lost people and things. You clearly aren’t a circle mage. You don’t have that look of shame that so many circle mages wear.”

  
“Messer, I did not even know that I was a mage until two years ago,” Angharad explained.

  
“How can that be? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  
“My teacher said that my parents had done the best job he’d ever seen of suppressing my talents. The only part of my gift that ever broke through was the Sight. Until recently I had never consciously cast a spell. I cannot even recall a time in my early life when I did use my gifts.”

  
“Your teacher, Rywik, yes?” Hawke questioned as Fenris picked up the pace so that they were once more at a gentle jog. “And how did you end up with Flemeth’s glyph branded into your palm?”

  
“I made the mistake of touching her. It was she who warned me that Nathaniel would need your help in the Deep Roads. It was many years ago. Asha’bellanar chose to warn me for some reason, and I am grateful that she did not kill me that night.” Angharad was breathing quickly now and it was becoming difficult to speak.  
“You have to wonder what she has in store for us. She is something else.”

  
Angharad did not respond. She was too busy trying to breathe.

  
Miri looked over at Angharad and grinned. “Don’t do this much, do you!”

  
Angharad gasped.“Days….spent….clinic….treating Wardens.  Little time……exercise.”

   
Hawke nodded. “No time like the present to start.” She picked the pace up even more.  Angharad thought she would fall over dead, but in a couple of seconds, they stopped. They had reached their goal.

  
The entrance to the Road was well hidden behind the abundant plant life that grew on the Wounded Coast. Tucked into a rock face, you could not see the entrance from the road itself for the entrance was cut sideways. Even if the brush hadn’t been there, you would not see it unless you were looking for it. They all stopped.

   
The White-haired elf with the unusual glowing markings kept giving her a look from time to time. Angharad had first seen him during the Qunari uprising but had not spoken to him. From the look he gave her today, Angharad was not at all certain that he would welcome making her acquaintance. So, she left him alone. 

  
The last member of Hawke’s party was a dwarf with a very deadly looking cross-bow.  Angharad had no chance to speak with him because he managed to keep a running banter going with one member of the party or another. Now, he, Varric, was the one who searched for and found the hidden latch that allowed the great door into the road to open.

  
Angharad managed to catch her breath before Varric entered the caverns.  He appeared moments later, and they followed him back inside. Angharad reeled back a little from the smell in the air of the ancient passageway. It wasn’t the smell of dirt, mold and animal droppings that bothered her so much as the odor of something very old, putrid and evil. She’d heard tales of how bad the Blight smelled in all its foul forms. Angharad knew in an instant that the tellers had not exaggerated. She bit her lips to keep from vomiting, but the nausea made it difficult to concentrate. 

  
To her surprise, it was the elf who leaned nearer and said. “Go ahead and vomit. You will feel better.”

   
Angharad needed no further invitation. She took a few steps away from the group, turned her back to them and brought up what little was left in her stomach. Curse my weak stomach! She thought, taking a quick swig of her water before turning back around to rejoin the rest of them. No one had really noticed.

   
Anders was on point, no doubt employing his abilities as a Warden to guide them in the right direction. After some minutes, they didn’t need his help. The smell, coupled with a feeling of wrongness, was overwhelming. They rounded the corner of the entrance tunnel to find that it opened into a large pit of sorts, lit by some unearthly blue light that came from veins of something—probably lyrium—that snaked through the rock like a living thing. In the distance, across the large pit, Angharad thought she saw movement. Then, there was the sound.  It was high pitched but definitely not human. More like a raptor screaming. And it was closing on them, growing louder. Shrieks!

  
Angharad remembered in time that they stealthed much like a rogue. She quickly drew a powerful glyph of repulsion at her feet in time to see a hideous creature appear and then go flying as the magic pushed it back. The shriek tried again to reach her but was unable to do so because of the ward Angharad and drawn on the ground.

   
 The elf was already far ahead of the rest of Hawke’s companions, attacking the main body of the group of darkspawn in the distance. He glowed, and his sword was ice white from cold. Angharad realized that her staff also was white.  Either Hawke or Anders was sustaining an elemental weapons spell. Cold. The creatures must be sensitive to cold! Angharad cast a cone of cold ice just as her glyph wore off.  It caught two Shrieks who had been grabbing at her from outside the protection of the glyph and froze them in place. A quarrel came whizzing by her and blew one of the shrieks apart.

  
Angharad moved away from the other frozen monster and began hitting it with spirit energy from her staff. She felt, rather than saw that the elf was weakening. No doubt he’d taken some heavy blows. Angharad delved into her spirit healing knowledge. She remembered a group heal spell and cast it on everyone in the group, including herself. She felt something go back together on her own skin. Until now, she hadn’t realized that she’d been injured. She turned her attention to the main group of darkspawn who were still attacking Fenris. At his side was a mabari hound. Angharad had no time to wonder from whence it had come, for Hawke was yelling, “Move, move, move!” Angharad ran with all speed toward the group just as a gigantic monster with great horns came charging from behind her.

  
Without any conscious thought whatsoever, she cast a telekinetic burst of energy, knocking the monster backward for a brief moment. Oh Maker! Angharad thought as he started back toward her once more. Now what? A fireball flew by her and into the ogre. It rocked the monster back again, and gave her time to think. Angharad cast a gravity ring strong enough to slow the monster down, and then began hitting it was everything her staff was capable of giving.

   
“Drop!” Someone yelled. Angharad hit the ground at a large rock went flying over her and into the ogre. This was followed by another quarrel which burst into flames when it connected with the monster. Angharad scrambled out of the path of attack, and took up a new position. Drawing from the mana inside her, she cast another heal spell over the entire group.  From out of nowhere, a streak of blue light passed by her. But the blue light was actually the elf, who leapt high in the air and sliced down through the ogre’s shoulder with his two-handed sword, the blade traveling almost to the monster’s belly before resistance overcame momentum.  The beast fell backward, and Fenris landed feet-first on its chest, pulling his sword out with all his might. He readied to deliver another blow, but it was clear that the monster was dead.

  
Suddenly, where there had been shrieking and screaming and the sound of fireballs exploding and rocks hitting, there was quiet except for the sound of rapid breathing slowly returning to normal. Angharad felt a heal spell wash over her, and another. She began to shake.

  
“First melee?” The elf asked as he walked by her toward the group.

   
Angharad caught up with him. “First darkspawn.” She explained, as she walked next to him. “I’ve only fought humans and spiders before.”

  
“With magic?” Fenris inquired.

  
“With knives. First time with magic really.”

  
The eyebrow went up a little. “Not bad.” He said in a very deep voice.

  
They’d caught up to Hawke, Anders and Varric and pressed on further into the giant caverns and corridors.

   
“We’re approaching something. Maybe Wardens, maybe darkspawn.  Be ready.” He added.

  
“Angharad, you keep casting glyphs, and healing. Your role this time is to keep the spawn on their backs and off their feet if possible, and keep Fenris alive. Us too for that matter.  Anders and I will use destructive spells and back you up on healing.” Hawke said without looking at her. She was scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

  
“Ayah.” Angharad responded.

  
“Southeast corner.” Anders said, readying his staff.

   
Angharad cast a gravity well into the area Anders indicated. The corner lit up with blue light as the gravity well took shape and pulled everything not nailed down toward its vortex. In the light, they could see at least ten darkspawn grunts and an Emissary. Spellcaster! Angharad thought as she felt the power gather around the creature. Angharad cast a pull spell that swept the emissary off his feet and toward the gravity well. As the creature struggled to its feet she drew a glyph of repulsion which threw him off his feet once more. She watched him as he tried to regain his footing. She had one more spell she could use; but before she could cast it, Anders sent another large boulder flying through the air and knocked the emissary back off his feet. This gave Angharad time to cast a heal spell. It helped some, but Fenris needed more, so she incanted a second individual heal spell and cast it at him.

   
Suddenly, Angharad was knocked off her feet and her staff went flying as some terrible creature with breath like a walking corpse landed on top of her grabbing her hair and pounding her head into the ground. Angharad unsheathed the knife in her wrist sheath and began stabbing for all she was worth, though every blow of her head made her see stars. Finally, she managed to slip the knife in between its ribs and cut deep, hopefully something that resembled an aorta in humans. The creature fell over, and Angharad scrambled loose. She had no time to find her staff; another creature was fast upon her. She drew her other knife and used her right shoulder in an upward thrust to add power to her blade as she sank it into the creature’s soft middle. Angharad followed with her left blade into the creature’s neck, doing her best to tear out whatever was there. She whirled around, flipping her blades as she did so and sank both of them into the creature’s chest before pulling away. 

  
Angharad looked quickly around. She spotted her staff and ran to it. Fenris was down.  Reaching deep, she drew mana and cast a revival spell. There was enough power in her spell to lift him completely off the ground as she brought him back from the edge of death. “Heal, heal, Fenris, heal.” She shouted, hoping that either Anders or Hawke would do more healing on the elf because she was completely drained. To her relief, both of them cast healing magic. Hawke’s spell washed over all of them, and Angharad was grateful. She felt better. Concentrate!  She told herself. There, in the distance, another wave of darkspawn were running their way. Angharad tried to gather enough mana for a gravity well, but did not have the reserves.

   
“Catch!”  She heard. Anders tossed something at her. Instinctively, she caught it. It was a vial of liquid that glowed blue. Lyrium, she thought, and downed the fluid. Instantly, she felt power course back through her body. Gathering that energy together, she cast the gravity spell to slow the second group down.  They all ran forward toward the darkspawn.  Spells were more effective, but also more dangerous, when cast up close and personal. The best thing to do as a spellcaster was to stay far enough away to prevent being overwhelmed while being close enough for your spells to really have power. Within moments, the last darkspawn was down.   
Angharad rushed over to Fenris. “I am so sorry, I lost focus.”

  
“On the contrary, you were too focused on me and you forgot to protect your own flank.” Fenris corrected her. “In battle you must tend to yourself first. You are no use to the team if you are overwhelmed by the enemy.”

  
“Nice knife work, though. Come, let’s move.” Miri added as she came up to the two of them.

   
They started forward when Angharad saw a movement in the shadows. “Darkspawn, corner.” A lone darkspawn grunt came running out of the shadows. Fenris started to draw is sword, but a bowman stepped out ahead of them, nocked an arrow and let fly, striking the darkspawn in the head. The creature dropped without another movement. The bowman sheathed his bow and turned toward them. It was Nathaniel.

  
“Nathaniel Howe!”

  
Nathaniel turned toward Miri. “You’re the Champion of Kirkwall, aren’t you?” His eyes traveled onward to Anders.  “And…Anders!” 

  
“Making friends as always, I see.” Anders replied, stepping forward.

  
“There’s no escaping you, it seems.” Nathaniel retorted.

  
“I’m special that way.” Anders said.

  
“That’s one way to put it.” Nathaniel responded sharply. “Remind me to show you the little going away present you left me with the last time we parted.”  
Miri spoke up.  “Delilah said you followed my expedition’s route.  Why?”

  
“You went further into the Deep Roads than anyone believed possible. The First Warden himself ordered the investigation. I was offered a generous share of the salvage plus extra coin up front to discourage any…curiosity.”

  
Nathaniel started to say something else when Anders moved, exposing Angharad who was standing behind him. “Angharad?”  Nathaniel stepped closer to her. “Angharad, what in the name of the Maker are you doing here? I told you that this was no place for you!”

  
Angharad started to say something but Hawke interrupted. “Business first, argue later. I don’t remember drawing anyone any maps. Who told you how to find this place?”

  
With a glare at Angharad, Nathaniel explained how he came to be in the Deep Roads. It seems they had contacted Varric’s brother, Bartrand. Although Miri asked him what the Wardens interest was in the thaig, Nathaniel was unable to explain. “Let’s just say we live in interesting times,” He finished.

  
“Well, let us go and give your sister the good news.” Hawke said, turning back toward the way out of the tunnels.

  
Nathaniel shook his head. “I cannot leave now.  When we were attacked, I was separated from the rest of my expedition. Some of them may still live. We must go deeper into the tunnels to rescue them.”

  
“Who may have survived?” Hawke asked him.

  
“Who still lives? Only the Maker knows, but I have to find out.” Nathaniel told her.

   
Miri turned to her companions.  “We have survivors to find.  Let’s go.”

  
“Stay alert for darkspawn.” Nathaniel admonished.

  
Angharad moved to Nathaniel’s side and said, sotto voce, “Is Carter alive?”

  
“I do not know. Obviously, you have not told her.”

  
Angharad shook her head.

  
“This is not over.” Nathaniel replied, moving forward toward the deeper tunnels.

  
Angharad didn’t have to guess at what this was. Nathaniel was very angry.

  
They traveled further down into the Deep Roads, through corridors that were lit with lava flowing through the dwarven made channels alternating with caverns that were cold enough to see your breath. The team reached a point where the road gave way all together. There was a smaller passageway at right angles to the now crumbled road. They walked through this passage, up a set of stairs to a large open area with a wide paved boulevard twice as wide as any street in Kirkwall with ceilings as high as a small hill. At even intervals along this boulevard, there were golems. They were standing still as statutes, made of stone and unmoving. They kept watch on the golems, concerned that they might activate and attack, but they stood still. It was here that they found Tammerin Glovonak, Dworkin’s cousin, from the Vigil.  He was Dworkin’s apprentice and knew a great deal about explosives.

   
Tammerin had taken the explosives they’d brought from the Vigil and had set up charges all along the way. “I planned to take as many spawn out as I could before returning to the stone.” He explained.

  
“The road to the surface is clear, now.” Nathaniel told him.  “Get word to the wardens in case we don’t make it out.” 

  
They watched as went on his way. Then Nathaniel, Hawke, and the rest picked their way down the boulevard zigzagging to avoid piles of rubble where portions of the ceiling had dropped on the road.

  
They were a little over halfway down the boulevard when a wave of darkspawn attacked.  Nathaniel put up his hand for everyone to hold position. He ran to the lever Tammerin had installed. An ogre was a part of this darkspawn group. As they charged toward him, Nathaniel waited, waited, waited, until the ogre was almost even with the barrel of explosives. At that instant, he pulled the lever. The charge exploded turning the ogre and two of the grunts into mush. Nathaniel rose up and started to fire arrows at the remaining darkspawn.

  
Everyone else started attacking then, and this time, Angharad did not lose focus. She kept as many of the spawn off their feet as possible until the others could take them out, and she kept everyone healed. Nathaniel’s bow made all the difference. This group had archers. Once they were dead, their arrows became weapons to be used against other darkspawn.

   
There were more stairs down at the end of the boulevard. Tammerin’s explosive barrels were strategically placed, along the length of a paved plaza. There were dead men and women there, some dressed in Warden uniforms. As they approached, they heard movement, and a man in uniform stood up and turned.  
“Carver?”  Miri said, coming up to her brother.

  
“Well, just like old times.” Carver said. “Still coming to the rescue.”

  
“I hope the years have been kind.” Miri said to him.

  
Nathaniel sensed trouble. “We don’t have time for this. The darkspawn approach.”

  
Unlike the last encounter with the darkspawn, this time they came at the group from three sides at once. There was no chance to use the explosives. Carver, like Fenris, was a warrior who used a two-handed sword. Angharad began casting spells to slow, stop and trap the enemy. This time she remembered the lyrium potions she’d brought to use down here. Varric fired quarrels that not only burst into flames on contact but also obscured their allies when they made contact with the enemy making it difficult for the enemy to strike back.

  
They were doing well enough when Angharad could feel the additional power of another mage. She turned in time to see an emissary preparing to cast a spell. “Emissary!” She shouted, Anders had felt it as well, for he was already using his ability to hurl a large boulder to knock the emissary down. Angharad turned quickly in a circle. She saw an ogre coming down a set of stairs. She created another gravity well to slow the ogre down while she threw a pull spell on a group of genlock grunts. They all went off their feet. In between, she had cast a heal-all spell, but through an additional heal spell on Fenris who was taking heavy action from the ogre despite the gravity spell.

  
Angharad drew a glyph of paralysis over the emissary before he could launch another spell.  
“Down, roll, Angharad.”

  
Angharad dropped to the ground and rolled to her left coming back up in time to see Nathaniel’s arrow take out a Hurlock.

   
Miri Hawke was managing her brother’s health as he took on a second ogre. Anders was also casting heal spells at this point, covering anyone who was dropping too low. He and Miri also cast fireballs, lightning and cold spells. 

  
Angharad could not cast destructive spells while using her spirit healing ability. Unlike spells that distorted gravity to or glyphs, and healing spells which called on the smallest of particles to knit wounds back together, destructive spells channeled from another place, used an entirely different form of magic, It took time to refocus energy from stepping into the fade to create and knit together body and blood or bend gravity to effect the real world, to channeling that energy into the darker place from which came fire, ice, and storm.

  
The darkspawn just kept coming. Nathaniel ran out of arrows and had switched to his daggers, getting up close and personal with the creatures. For a time, it seemed as if they would never stop coming through the doors and down the steps to attack. Despite the lyrium, Angharad was growing tired. She kept incanting, drawing and casting spells, until it felt as though it was all mixed together. She couldn’t think straight, and she was losing focus. In desperation, she began “singing” to her staff, a magic form that had been old when Halamshiral was being constructed. It involved a sort of melodic humming under her breath, setting up a harmonic vibration.  Angharad’s staff began to glow and vibrate in time to her humming. Suddenly a plane of light emitted from her staff.  It looked like a blue ethereal piece of fabric stretched from end to end across the space that held them all, darkspawn and allies alike. Angharad could feel the energy build and vibrate, until there was a gigantic pulse and many of the darkspawn simply disintegrated. Angharad’s staff went dark. She dropped it and continued to rebuild her mana using her hands. But with the pulse of energy, she had eliminated many of the darkspawn. Carver, Fenris, and Nathaniel mopped up the rest of them.

  
“For the first time since I’ve been down here, I don’t sense a single darkspawn.” Nathaniel said, looking around.  “We’ve won.” 

  
Angharad walked over to one of the steps, pushed a hurlock corpse out of the way and sat down. Miri Hawke came over to her. “What did you do with your staff?” Miri asked. “I’ve never seen magic like that.”

  
“I’ve ruined a perfectly good staff and will have to find another.” Angharad said.  She struggled to her feet and walked over to the staff, taking it in her hands. She showed it to Miri. The runes inscribed in it had glowed with power, radiating blue light. Now, they were dark.  You could not even call the runes black. They simply were not. “I converted the mana in the runes into energy by setting up a harmonic vibration,” Angharad explained. “As you can see, it is the last act of a desperate mage or a very rich one who can afford new staves right and left.”

  
Miri looked the staff over. “Yet, it could mean the difference between life and death in a fight, and it isn’t blood magic, correct?”

  
“No blood magic involved as we knowit, just another way to use the lyrium stored in the runes. No demons. Just very old harmonic magic.”

  
“Why do you not return to Kirkwall with us, and you can show me.” Hawke said.

   
Angharad looked at Nathaniel who was busy looting arrows from the darkspawn corpses. “It depends.”

  
Miri followed the direction of Angharad’s gaze. “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.”

  
In a louder tone, Hawke said, “Hadn’t we all better start for the surface? I’d like to get out of this stinking hole.” Everyone grouped together. To Nathaniel she said, “As I recall, your sister is waiting for news of you at the Hanged Man. Let’s all head back that way together, and we can have a pint or two.”

  
Nathaniel bowed slightly to Miri and said, “It is I who’ll do the buying.”  Nathaniel held something out to Miri. “And please, take this. It is a thank you. Your timely arrival means that I will see my sister and my nephew once more.”

   
Miri saw Angharad’s lips tighten at that. “Yes, well. Let’s head back.”

  
They walked as a silent group back out of the road and to the entrance. When they arrived at the entrance to the road, however, it was dark outside. The coast road was no safe place for man or beast at night, so they closed the door to the Deep Roads tight, and set up camp in the shelter of the rock face. Once the fire was going and jerky and tack passed round to serve as some form of sustenance, Nathaniel came over to where Angharad was seated, squatted down on his heels and said, “We need to take a short walk, Angharad.”

“Do we?

”  
Nathaniel gave her a look.

  
Angharad, mindful of what she had promised him a few short weeks ago, stood up. “Very well, Nate, let’s walk and talk.”

  
She and Nathaniel walked a short way down the road, close enough to be safe, far enough away, they hoped, to have a private conversation.

  
“Angharad, I told you that you could not come into the road. Why did you not heed me?”  He asked her. “Do you not know of what happens to women captured by the darkspawn?  What they are made into? The creatures they become? Did you not believe me?” He continued; his voice grew louder as his emotions rose.

   
“Yes, Nathaniel. I know the tales. I’ve heard of the brood mothers and how they are made. But Nathaniel, I have lived with Asha’bellanar’s warning for three years or more. She said you would die there unless the Lady Hawk was found to save you. Once I knew who the Lady Hawk was, I had to be certain that she would rescue you.”  
“You did not need to risk yourself to send Hawke after me—”

   
“What! And have them think that I was afraid to do what I asked them to do? I may be inexperienced, Nathaniel, but I am no coward. Why would I ask another woman to do what I would not myself do? Would you ask another man to risk his life while you spared your own?”

  
“What I WANT, Angharad, is for you to listen to me for once and heed what I say,” Nathaniel shouted back, “Instead of constantly doing what you damn well wish to do!”  
Angharad started to cry tears of anger and frustration. “You are such an ASS at times! Nathaniel! You were going to die down there. You were lost to me in that terrible place. I had to come for you! If it were me, would you leave ME there? Would you not try to find me?” 

  
Defeated by her simple, inexorable logic, Nathaniel took a deep breath, took her hand and drew her close into his arms. “Of course I would come for you, Angharad. I would die myself before I left you there. Do not cry anwylaf, hush. I’m sorry.” He kissed her mouth and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

  
“I love you so, Nathaniel, and we have so little time together. I couldn’t lose you so soon.” Angharad sobbed. “I couldn’t.”

  
“Shh, beloved, shh. We’re both still here. It is fine. Come. Let us return to the fire.” Nathaniel kissed her once more.

  
They walked back to the camp together. As they sat down by the fire, it was clear to them both that their little conversation had probably been overheard by one and all, for everyone began quickly talking about absolutely nothing important. Nathaniel grinned ruefully and put his arm around Angharad’s shoulders. They sat together contentedly until it was time to sleep.

 


	12. Arguments, Warnings, and Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad gets schooled by the Champion of Kirkwall. Nathaniel has an encounter with an older woman. Fenris refuses a gift but learns a lesson.

Chapter Twelve  
Argument, Warnings, and Gifts,

Early the next morning, they broke camp and started down the coast road to the city. Angharad noted that they had no difficulty entering the city gates as a part of Hawke’s group. As they walked the streets of Lowtown on their way to the Hanged Man, Miri Hawke asked Angharad, “Why didn’t you tell me that Carver was among those in the expedition?”

“I could lie and say I didn’t know. But I did know. I would have told you had you refused Delilah’s request. But you did not. At that point, I had to judge whether or not the knowledge would help or hinder you.” In a low tone, she added, “You have lost so much in these last years. There was no reason to worry you all those hours when we were helpless to do anything except get to them in time.”

“I don’t like not having all the information. Next time, warn me, no matter how disturbing the news.”

“Of course. Forgive me for withholding that information.”

When they reached the Hanged Man, Nathaniel bought pints all around. Angharad went up to the room and found Delilah, who came downstairs. She met her brother with a big, hug. “Nathaniel, what am I to do with you?” She asked, in her best older sister voice. “Mother would have both our heads if she knew the trouble I let you get into.”  
Nathaniel merely grinned. At Carver’s age, he would have reacted badly to the scolding. But he’d learned a few things along the way. He’d believed Delilah to be dead at one point in their lives. There were no words to describe the joy he felt at discovering that she was alive and well. That was worth any amount of scolding. “Yes, well, Mother’s not here to send us upstairs without supper.” 

Delilah laughed, turned and hugged Angharad. “Thank you so much.” 

Angharad merely hugged her tighter. “Thank you. I know it was a long journey.”

“For a good cause,” Delilah replied.

Everyone drank their drink and talked desultorily about the adventure, trying not to frighten Delilah too much with what happened. By tacit agreement, the subject of ogres did not come up.

Miri Hawke finished her ale and put down her mug. “Well I’m for home and a bath. Carver, you’re with me. No argument. Uncle Gamlen will want to see you and introduce you to your cousin, Charade. I’ve sent word so they’ll probably be at the house by now.” Miri looked at Nathaniel. “You sir, stink of the Deep Roads as well. I suggest a bath for you.” The rest of you may fend for yourselves, with the exception of you, Delilah; you are welcome to spend the next few nights at my residence. Angharad and your brother are welcome to join us later in the day for supper, provided he bathes.” Miri said, looking pointedly at Nathaniel. She rose from her chair, and Fenris and Anders quickly finished their mugs and rose as well. Carver rolled his eyes, but he joined her. 

“Come Delilah, I’ll send someone for your things,” Miri said.

Nathaniel watched as Miri walked toward the door. “That woman really knows how to plan,” He said to no one in particular.

“You certain it isn’t her arse that has you mesmerized?” Angharad asked as she watched him watch Hawke.

Nathaniel grinned without taking his eyes off the retreating backside. “That too, but it’s the planning that has me agog!”

Varric added. “Hawke has been planning for all of us for a long time now. You’re right, she’s good at it.”

Before Angharad could come back with a smart retort, Nathaniel turned back to the table. “Come Angharad, let us go to bed,” Nathaniel said, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet.

“Bath first, Nathaniel. I hate to admit it, but the beautiful woman with the mesmerizing bottom who just sashayed out of here was right, you are rather ripe.”  
Varric laughed. “I’ll have the barkeep send up hot water forthwith.”

Nathaniel wrapped an arm around Angharad’s waist, and as they ascended the stairs to the private rooms, he leaned back, eyed her backside, grinned and patted. “Pretty mesmerizing, I’d say,” He whispered in her ear.

Angharad pretended to be shocked. “Nathaniel!” She gasped, but then she smiled. He laughed, and they went on to their room.

Varric watched in amusement until they vanished, he signaled for the girl and gave her instructions for the hot water. Then he went up to his own permanent quarters.  
Nathaniel bathed in the rather small and uncomfortable wooden tub. When he was finished, he stretched out on the bed and waited for Angharad.

Angharad quickly washed off in the little wooden tub as well, but by the time she was able to join Nathaniel, he was sound asleep. She brushed the hair from his face and said his name softly, but Nathaniel did not stir. Angharad cast a light healing over his small gash and got dressed. 

Unlike Nate, who was exhausted, Angharad found that she could not sleep as it was only mid-afternoon. She wrote a note saying that she had gone shopping in High Town and to catch up with her there or at Hawke’s mansion for supper. She put the note where he was most certain to find it, in the sheath of his favorite dagger, and then she left.

She made her way up the multiple sets of steps from the Hanged Man to the market in High Town. Angharad did not stop there, however. She walked through to the Chantry Courtyard and up the stairs on the left to the residences there. Angharad found the door to a mansion that appeared to be deserted. She could feel the lingering bits of worn out magic flickering about and knew that this was the right place. Angharad knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Angharad tried the latch and found it to be unlocked. Going inside, Angharad found rooms that appeared deserted, untended and in chaos. There were desiccated bodies lying about everywhere. Angharad suspected that the only thing that had kept them from smelling worse than they now did were drying spells cast by the various mages who had been forced to stand in the foyer and smell the rot. Angharad cast a spell for good measure, pleased to see the bodies grow a little more withered and less putrid.

“Hello? Fenris? Are you home?” Angharad called out loudly. When he did not answer, she said, “I’m coming upstairs.” She walked up the stairs to the upper floor balcony. When she reached the top, there was a blue streak of movement and suddenly a knife was pressed to her throat. 

“What do you want, Witch!”

“I came to offer an argument, a warning and a gift. You are free to decline the gift, but I am bound to offer the argument.” 

“By whom are you bound?” Fenris asked, knife still at her throat.

“By what, is the better question. I am bound by my oath as a healer to do what I can for the sick or injured to help them be whole.”

“A mage’s oath? What is that worth?” Fenris snarled, pressing the knife a little more into her skin.

Trying to be calm, Angharad replied softly. “I knew nothing of magic when I gave my promise to my mother to be a good healer. She made me swear it before she would teach me about herbs and healing. I was but a little girl no higher than her thigh when I swore. There is only one oath I would take more seriously.”

Fenris stared into Angharad’s eyes for a long moment before lowering the knife. “Why do you think I need healing?” 

“Did I say it was you who needed to be whole?” Angharad responded.

Fenris knit his dark eyebrows together. Finally, he responded. “No you did not.” He turned away, “Come then. We may as well sit while I hear what you have to say.” He led the way into the back room. Again, the room was in chaos. It was cluttered with broken furniture and overturned benches. But at least there was a fire and a bench on which to sit. 

Angharad sat down and put her hands on her knees. “Very well. Firstly, we must define our terms before we argue. I would ask, for the sake of this argument that we define the word “love” as a value. I would also suggest that it means something we value more highly than almost anything else, save perhaps our own life.” She let Fenris think on it a moment. “Are we in agreement? Will this definition suffice?”

Fenris nodded his head. “We agree.” 

“Good. Very well, then. First statement: Miri Hawke is an intelligent, capable person who knows her own mind, has her own goals and is quite able to reach them.”  
Fenris dropped his head as he considered this. “Agreed. Hawke definitely knows what she wants.”

“Second premise: You love Miri Hawke.” 

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “That is personal.”

Angharad shrugged her shoulders. “I make no judgment. I state what I perceive to be a fact. Tell the truth, Fenris, and shame the demons. Is the premise true?”  
“It is true,” Fenris said in his deepest growl.

“Very well. You love her. She is an intelligent woman, who knows her own mind and you love her. Question: Has Hawke relayed to you her thoughts, feelings and goals with regard to you?”

Fenris rose from the bench and began to pace. He was also mumbling fiercely in a language Angharad was just learning, Tevene.

“Shame the demons, Fenris,” Angharad said to him.

“Yes. She has relayed her feelings to me. She has said that she loves me.” Fenris said at last, pacing more quickly.

“Very well. And do you believe that Hawke lied when she said this?” Angharad asked careful to keep her tone neutral and unthreatening.

“No! She did not lie. She does not lie, at least not to those she cares for.”

So, Hawke values you as much as her own life or perhaps more. Agreed?”

“Yes,” he snarled, “we agree. What is your point, Witch?”

“Simple. I have it on the best authority that you and she had a brief relationship three years ago, and that you left her. My question to you is this: Whom did you seek to punish by terminating a relationship that you both need and desire?”

When he did not respond, Angharad took a deep breath mentally crossed her fingers for luck and said, “I sense your shame and fear with regard to that event. You were afraid and you left, and now you are ashamed of your actions. And I sense that you sought to expiate some sin of your own by denying yourself this relationship. Am I correct?”

“Hold your tongue, Witch!” Fenris yelled, moving to hover over her, to intimidate her. His anger told Angharad everything she needed to know about her hypothesis.

“You should realize that your penance is wounding her deeply,” Angharad said simply.

Before Fenris could respond in anger, she said, “I say this to you so you will understand the warning.” Angharad looked into the flames of the fireplace and said softly. “As bad as things seem now, they are nothing compared to what is soon to be. Our world, our culture, our existence will all be at risk. There will be death, and destruction, and violence, and pain; and such suffering, that everyone will cry for peace, but there will be none. The currents of time and injustice and retribution are converging, and Hawke will be caught in the maelstrom. If you do not help her, Fenris, she will be destroyed. There is no one else who can do it.”

Angharad shook her head and rose from the bench to go. “Do you know that she has nightmares? She relives the death of her sister in her dreams. She relives the day her mother was murdered in her dreams. Over and over again, Fenris, her loved dead return to haunt her. And there is no one to help her when she cries in the night.”  
Fenris said nothing as Angharad walked toward the door. But before she was out of the room he said, “You said there was a gift.”

Angharad turned back around. “Yes. The gift.” Angharad nodded her head. In an even, neutral tone she said, “The memories of your past are accessible. I can unlock the door to the place in your memory where they are stored. However, you must understand that once the door is opened, there is no closing it again. And, I must touch you and use magic to open the door.”

His body language said all. Angharad smiled. “Not today, I take it. Very well. The offer is there so long as I am alive. Let me know if you change your mind.”

With that, Angharad left the mansion. It was only once she was outside and safe that she allowed herself to fully comprehend how close to death she had trod this day. It also occurred to her that she was beginning to act like Rywik! Angharad walked back toward the stalls to see what was on offer in the Hightown market.  
   
***

Nathaniel awoke about two hours after Angharad had departed the room. He was concerned until he saw the rolled-up paper stuck in his dagger sheath. Nathaniel read the note, smiled, and decided to do some shopping of his own. Being far away from any workroom where he might distill his own poisons, he needed to purchase them as his stock was growing low. He also needed new arrows. He knew Kirkwall well enough to know that the vendors he sought were located in Darktown and Lowtown. So, he dressed in armor and strapped on his weapons.

He found all the poisons he needed at a vendor in Darktown, but he stopped at the Lowtown market anyway, hoping to find a Fletcher and also to buy a gift for Delilah to take home to Liam. He was at the weapons vendor’s stall examining the arrows when he heard a woman’s voice.

“Nathaniel Howe. So, she decided to save you. Good for her.”

Nathaniel looked up from the vendor’s table and turned toward the direction from which the voice had come. An incredibly beautiful woman near his age stood there, smiling at some secret joke. She was dressed in a breastplate of silverite, a skirt the color of eggplant over which were two panels of silverite chain, one in front and one in back. Aside from the breastplate that was buckled with leather straps embossed with silverite studs, she wore nothing else on top save armbands of silverite that encircled her upper arms and bracers of silverite on her forearms. In her right hand, she held a staff that hummed with power. As she walked slowly toward him, Nathaniel felt like a mouse being stalked by a very large and powerful cat. There was something familiar about her; she had dark black hair that flowed down her slender yet shapely form that was held in place by a headdress with glyphs inscribed in the metal. Her eyes were familiar. They were very familiar. There was something about her amber colored eyes. Nathaniel took a small step back. “You are Flemeth.”

“So I am,” The woman replied with a laugh. “You are more intelligent than I gave you credit for being.”

Nathaniel looked around the marketplace to see if anyone else had noticed her, but everyone else was frozen in place. Nathaniel realized at that point that he could no longer hear the sounds of the city. There was no movement of feet, no ringing of bells, and no vendor’s come hither cry to buyers. Everything was very still. More than still. Everything was simply not. He could see the reality that he knew and lived, but he was not a part of it at the moment. He was somewhere else. He turned to face the woman once more.

“That’s right,” she said with a sly smile. “They can neither hear me nor see me. “

“So are the legends true then? Did you find some woman’s body to steal?”

Flemeth laughed out loud. “As if I needed anything but my own will to change form. Stealing bodies is messy and a waste of time. It is simpler to will myself into whatever I desire to be.” When she saw the look of incredulity on his face, she added, “What! Must I change before your eyes to be believed? Would you prefer the old woman? Or perhaps you would prefer the dragon; though I admit, I might eat you then. You look quite delicious.”

Nathaniel blushed at the innuendo of her remark but refused to be intimidated. “No. I believe you. It is just that the Warden tales are very specific on this point.”  
Flemeth smiled once more. “Ah Rywik. Always making excuses for attempting my murder. He should have known better. But I digress, and the time grows short. “  
“What would you have of me?” Nathaniel asked her, aware that they were coming to the heart of the matter.

“Your anwylaf owes me a debt,” Flemeth said to him.

“Then allow me to pay it for her. I will do so gladly.”

Flemeth smiled at him. “I am sorely tempted. I quite understand what she sees in you, but it won’t do. Angharad will pay the debt herself.” 

“Say what you will, Flemeth.”

Flemeth’s face drained of all human expression. That which stood before him now was Force, free of emotion, free of anything except the necessity of communication. “The day is coming when Angharad will be carried to a place she does not wish to go. It is a place of execution, Nathaniel, a place of darkness and destruction. There will be one who will work to save her, but he will fail unless you come to the killing place and make yourself known to him before the statue is created. It is you who must find her. It is you who must carry her out of the darkness and into the light. On that day, seek out Rywik’s Templar,” Flemeth told him, her voice hollow and dark.

“I do not understand. Statue? Place of execution? Can you not clarify? I do not understand.”

“When you need understanding, Nathaniel, it will be given you. Be strong for her,” Flemeth commanded.

“Why do we matter to you?” Nathaniel asked, curious about why this being would care about their existence let alone warn them of danger.

“My reasons do not matter, Nathaniel. My warning does,” Flemeth replied, now seeming human once more. “Remember Rywik’s Templar.” She turned and began to walk away from him. With each step her hair slowly went from blackest black to silver-white. When she looked back at him, just before disappearing, he saw the old woman who had marked Angharad so long ago. He needed proof? She gave him proof! Nathaniel shuddered.

Suddenly, the sounds were back as were the smells and the movement in the market place. “Maker help us,” Nathaniel whispered under his breath. He felt something cold in his hand. He looked down at his palm. Inscribed there was a glyph. Not Angharad’s glyph, that was certain. He had traced that mark in her hand many times with his fingers and knew it well. This was another mark, another sign. He felt no pain, and his hand worked well. Nathaniel stared back at the place where the witch had vanished one last time. Then he moved on.

***

Angharad made her way to Hawke’s house. She was admitted by an older dwarf who showed her into the library. Hawke walked in a few moments later. “Hello. I am glad you took me up on the supper invitation. Is Nathaniel coming?”

“He was sleeping when I left the Hanged Man. Hopefully, he will join us. Where is Delilah?”

“She went out to the market for a time. I sent my maid with her to shop for our meal,” Miri responded.

“Do you mind if we discuss something before the others arrive?” Angharad asked her hostess.

“Not at all. And there is the question of that spell. What is it that is so important?”

Angharad rose from her chair and began to pace the room. Now that the opportunity was here, Angharad was somewhat nervous. “Forgive me. I do not know how to begin. I have known Anders since the night of the attack on the Vigil many years ago. He and Etienne Caron saved my life that night. They killed the darkspawn who were trying to break into the room in which I and some others were hiding. It was their action that allowed us to escape. I say this so that you will know that I owe Anders a great deal.”  
Miri’s face grew serious and somewhat sad. She looked from Angharad’s face to the floor. “You are about to tell me that there is very little of Anders left.” 

“In part, yes. But the important thing I must say to you is that Anders is the spark that will ignite a rebellion that will blossom into a major conflict between the Templars and mages,” Angharad said, returning to her chair. 

“You are certain?”

“I have seen it. Other sagas in the Wardens have seen it as well.”

Now, it was Hawke’s turn to pace. “So why do I need to know this?”

Angharad continued. “As you know, both the King and the Hero of Ferelden were—no—are Grey Wardens. When Rywik ended the Blight, he asked that the mages of Ferelden be freed from the Templar’s custody. Alistair has kept that promise. Ferelden is one of the few countries in Thedas that will be friendly to mages. You must send the mages who manage to escape the Gallows to make their way to Ferelden. The obvious choice for fleeing mages might seem to be Tevinter, but the Imperium will simply enslave them once more; and, aside from that, they hate mages outside their sphere of influence. Angharad took a piece of paper out of her carry all. She handed it to Miri.   
Miri read the paper and looked at Angharad in surprise. “King Alistair himself assures asylum?” 

“To any mage who is free from demons, yes. He wishes to meet with you, but it may not be possible.”

“What about the Grey Wardens? I thought they always remained neutral.”

“The Grey Wardens will try to remain neutral. That may not be possible for them. You must know that we have little chance of success. But it will not matter. We will be forced to fight. Etienne Caron has a saying that fits. What we cannot change, we must survive. I don’t know how, but we must survive.”

The two women sat in silence for a moment. Each was thinking about the storm that was forming on the horizon. Finally, Miri shook her head, as if shaking off the sense of doom that came with such thoughts. “It appears as though I will need another spell. Come, I have an old staff. Show me how it is done.”

Angharad took up the staff that Miri provided and began to hum different tunes in different keys. For a time, nothing happened; but then, she hit upon the right combination of tones in the correct pitch. The runes in the staff began to glow. As the runes began to glow, Angharad sang words directing the power that poured from the runes. A blue field began to form, but before it could complete itself, Angharad stopped singing. The field collapsed and the staff became normal again. “You must find the right song for the energy you wish to convert. With each mage it is different. Once you have done so then you sing your incantation.”

Angharad handed the staff to Miri. “You can also sing your own spells without a staff. Once you find the right tones to allow your mana to flow you can amplify the power of your spell. Be careful, however. You can drain too much of your mana and be completely helpless.”

Miri took the staff and began to hum. She was a quick learner, and obviously had a good ear for music, for she found a set of tones similar to Angharad’s that caused the staff to glow. She smiled as the field began to form. She was singing an ice spell as she sang, the room grew colder and colder. It was only when Angharad managed to lay her ice-cold fingers on Miri’s arm that she looked over, shocked at how cold Angharad had become. She stopped singing and the staff’s bright blue light dimmed. Hawke then cast a healing spell that poured warmth into Angharad so that she finally stopped shaking. “Oh Maker, that is a powerful casting tool! And demon-free.”

“Indeed, and it is not a form of spell casting that the Templars can counter.” Angharad said. She started to explain how it was theoretically possible to use other forms of energy to power spells using this casting form, when the door opened and Nathaniel entered the room. Angharad took one look at his face and said, “What is it, Nate?”  
Nathaniel did not answer. He walked over to her and took her in his arms, holding her tight for a long moment. When he finally turned loose of her, Miri Hawke had already poured him a mug of ale and thrust it into his hands. Nathaniel drank half of it down in one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat down in one of the chairs. He looked at Angharad and said, “I have just had a very strange conversation with Flemeth. Do either of you have any idea who Rywik’s Templar is?”

“Rywik’s Templar? Who can that be?”

“I know,” Angharad said softly. Hawke and Nathaniel both looked her way. “I know. When I arrived, I delivered a letter from Rywik to Knight-Captain Cullen. Rywik saved the Knight Captain’s life. He is Rywik’s Templar. Will you let me see what you saw?” She asked him.

“Angharad, she frightened the hell-all out of me. Are you certain that you wish to see it?” Nathaniel said.

“Yes. Nathaniel, please.” She turned to Miri. “I can try to show you as well, if you like.”

Miri nodded. Angharad took Nathaniel’s hand in her left and Miri’s hand in her right. As she closed her eyes she found Nathaniel and drew Miri with her into his memories of the day. Miri laughed at Nathaniel’s view of her bottom and Angharad’s bottom, but the laughter ceased as she relived through Angharad Nathaniel’s experience of meeting Asha’bellanar in the market. 

Angharad knew at once that it was she, Asha’bellanar, despite the age change. From inside Nathaniel’s memory, Angharad could hear Miri Hawke say, “It’s the Gallows. The place of execution. The Gallows,” Then her voice floated away. Miri and Angharad both saw the glyph being created in Nathaniel’s hand, even though he had no conscious memory of the event. Finally, the Witch walked away, performing her transformation for Nathaniel’s benefit. Then it was over.

They all held hands for a second or two longer before reality took hold and they let go. Nathaniel pulled Angharad onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her for a moment, whispering, “I will come for you Angharad. I will not leave you there.”

“I know. I know, Nathaniel.”

Hawke studiously avoided studying the two of them, doing her best to allow them their private moment.

Angharad, mindful of her presence, forced herself to climb off Nathaniel’s lap and returned to the chair. “Miri? May I call you that? Miri?”  
Miri nodded without speaking.

“Are you certain that she meant the Gallows?”

“Yes. The Gallows was a prison and a slave trading center. It was also an execution site. They used to hang the condemned like ornaments around the walls. It is why it is called The Gallows. One of the elven names for it translated into the place of execution.”

“Nathaniel, may I see your hand?”

Nathaniel tuned his palm upward. Angharad took hold and studied the glyph carefully. “It is the same glyph form. I need to copy it and send it to Rywik. He may know what the glyphs mean.”

Angharad lay her left hand in his. To their surprise, each felt the power move back and forth between them through their hands. But it was brief, and though they still pressed palm to palm, it did not return.

“Did you feel that?”

“Yes, but nothing now,” Nathaniel replied.

Angharad let go of Nathaniel’s hand and took hold again, palm to palm. There was once more a brief exchange of power but nothing more. 

“Enough, I think. I doubt we’ll have anything useful come of repeating this now.” Angharad kissed Nathaniel’s palm playfully and let his hand drop. “It was definitely Flemeth. And she has warned us. For the moment, there is nothing more to do.”

“Would it be rude of me to ask if we are close to supper time?” Angharad asked Miri. “I find I am starving.”

Miri laughed. “I am certain that Bodahn can find us something to eat. He is always plying me with food. Come, let us see.” They left the study and moved to the main salon.


	13. Supper, Ceremony, and Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad and Nathaniel meet the rest of Hawke's friends. Nathaniel makes a surprising proposal. Duties and Obligations separate them again.

Chapter Thirteen  
Supper, Ceremony, and Farewell

  
They didn’t need to find Bodahn, for they had spent so much time in the library that the guests had begun to arrive for supper. Varric, Anders, and Carver were all waiting in the drawing room. Angharad was glad to see that Carver hadn’t bolted. On the contrary, he was speaking to an older man with whom he shared a strong physical resemblance. They were both standing next to a lovely young woman. Carter spied Nathaniel and Angharad and waved them over, “You must meet my cousin, Charade, and my uncle, Gamlen,” He told them both. After speaking with Gamlen, it occurred to Angharad that he and Carver shared more than just a physical resemblance.

  
Miri caught up with the two of them and introduced them to a beautiful young elf with dark hair, brilliant eyes and Dalish facial tattoos. “Merrill’s clan is originally from Ferelden, but they came north to escape the Blight.” Miri explained, before she drifted away to greet more of her guests.

  
Nathaniel asked, “Did you know a clan with a First named Velanna?”

   
“Oh yes. I remember Velanna. Our clans often met in spring or fall to trade and frolic.” Velanna was always so—so sure of herself. I was in awe of her.  How did you know her?”

  
Nathaniel grew serious.  “Her clan was slaughtered by darkspawn, and her sister taken. Velanna became a Grey Warden so that she might better be able to fight them. It was her goal to find her sister.”

  
“Slaughtered? Killed? All of them?” Merrill asked, horrified.

  
“Yes, sadly. The darkspawn killed them all except for Velanna’s sister. They tried to make it look as though the clan had been exterminated by humans. When Commander Caron helped her understand the trick that had been played on her, Velanna became a Grey Warden to take vengeance on the darkspawn and to try and find her sister. But it did not end as she had hoped. Her sister was a willing follower of one of the intelligent darkspawn that we discovered. She would not return with us, and Velanna was devastated,” Nathaniel said gravely.

  
“What a sad ending for her and her clan. Every year, it seems, we dwindle a little more.”

   
“Nathaniel? Angharad?” They turned to face Miri who had a very handsome man dressed in shining white armor in tow. “May I present his Royal Highness Sebastian Vael, the rightful Prince of Starkhaven, if he should ever actually decide to go and get his crown back from the usurper who now wears it.

”  
Nathaniel bowed and Angharad dropped into a curtsey deep enough for royalty. “Your Highness,” They both said in unison.

  
Sebastian flushed, and put his hand out to help Angharad up.  “Please, no bowing. I am merely a brother in the Chantry.”

   
“Both paths are open to you, yes? And you stand at the crossroads. You cannot decide which one is your true destiny,” Angharad inquired.

  
“Miri said you had the Sight, and you were trained by the Hero of Ferelden himself. Hae ye dedicated your gift to the Maker?” Sebastian asked.

  
“I was dedicated to the Maker as a child. I did not think to dedicate my gift to Him but he is most welcome to make use of it,” Angharad replied.

  
Miri leaned in and whispered to Angharad.  “Don’t let Sebastian’s fervor for the Chantry overwhelm you.” Aloud, she said, “Sebastian is very good with a bow, Nathaniel. I would love to see you two in a contest to see who would win.”

  
Nathaniel and Sebastian immediately began a conversation about their craft, allowing Miri to steer Angharad away. “Our Prince is a very confused man. He cannot make up his mind if he wants to be a holy brother or a worldly prince. I am on tenterhooks to see how it all turns out.  But enough of that.”

  
Miri led her to a sideboard where a platter of cheeses, breads, and fruits laid out. “I thought you might wish to consume some of this.”

  
“Thank you.” Angharad took some and ate it happily.

  
A Captain of the Guard and a Guardsman appeared in the doorway about that time.  Angharad wondered if they were here on official business, but it was apparent by the hug Miri gave the Captain that they were guests.  About that time, Delilah made her appearance and went immediately to her brother’s side. Clearly, Delilah knew who Sebastian was. Angharad watched the three of them together. It was evident that they shared something; it showed in their ease around each other. The silent signals that pass between people that declare, “Ah, I am one of you. See?” None of them would be conscious of it; all three of them would probably deny it should it be mentioned. But it was there nonetheless, that habit of ruling, of being obeyed.

  
Before Angharad could approach Nathaniel, Miri corralled her once more and introduced her to Aveline Valen, the Guard Captain and her husband, Guardsman Donnic. They had just exchanged pleasantries when the double doors that led from the salon to the dining room were opened, and supper announced by Bodahn.

   
Everyone found their places at the table and the meal commenced. The food was wonderful made even more so by the fine wine and delicious ciders and ales which were on offer.  As the drink flowed, the conversation grew easier. Angharad noted that there was an empty place at the table. No doubt Fenris had been invited and had not come. Despite his absence, everyone enjoyed the evening, and it was a welcome break from the danger that they usually faced in their daily lives.

   
When the guests moved from the dining room to the salon, Angharad went to Miri and said, “Blame me for Fenris’ absence tonight.  He and I had an argument earlier today. You may wish to check in with him later. We did not part on the best of terms.”

  
“Whatever would you two have to argue about? And when did you argue?”

  
“You. Magic. Penance. Redemption. Many things. This morning I went to his house.”

  
Miri started to say something about staying out of her business when Nathaniel came up to Angharad. “Are you ready to depart, anwylaf?  The hour grows late, and if we go now, we can return to the Hanged Man with Varric.”

  
“Of course. Thank you, Miri, for a wonderful evening. I believe the last time I had such fun, I was watching either Nathaniel or Carver being carried out of the hall drunker than the swineherd’s pet piglet who ate too many fermented apples!”

   
Miri laughed at that, for all knew the tale of the pig in the orchard. Nathaniel and Angharad found Delilah, said goodnight, and met Varric at the door. They walked down the stairs toward Lowtown with an eye out for trouble, but for once, the ruffians, thieves, bandits, slavers, and other ne’er do wells seemed to be elsewhere as they traversed the streets in peace.

  
Nathaniel and Angharad said goodnight to Varric and went to their room. Once undressed and in bed, they turned toward each other. Nathaniel began a lazy exploration of Angharad’s body. Gently, she took his hand in hers. “What did she mean to you, Nathaniel?”

  
“Who?” he asked, withdrawing his hands.

  
“Velanna.”

  
A wicked gleam came into his eyes as he cocked his head a little. “Jealous, love?”

  
“A little, perhaps. I remember how beautiful she was, how…intense, focused. I can see the attractions. You are so focused yourself.”

  
“I found her attractive, yes. And…had she not been so filled with a need for vengeance, there might have been more. That changed when a young woman stitched me up, bossed me about, and captured my heart, holding it forever in her hands. You did not steal me away from another. I came to you willingly, love, because I recognized that you were the one, would always be the one.”  He pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly, “?”Onid ydych yn gwybod hynny, Lass?

  
“I wanted to be certain. I was jealous of her then, before, when you did not see me. I thought I was over it. I suppose I wasn’t.”

   
Holding her close, he laughed softly. “So, you are not a saint? I love you all the more for it, love. Kiss me, love.”

  
They twined together in the narrow bed, making love, voices hushed because of the thin walls. Exhausted, they remained locked together as long as possible before Nathaniel turned onto his back and Angharad curled up at his side her head on his chest.

  
 “Are you not afraid, Angharad?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

  
She did not need to ask about his topic. She knew he was still troubled by Flemeth’s warning.  “Yes, I am afraid. But it will not change anything. Debt or no debt, this is something that I must do.”

  
“I must return to the outpost soon.”

   
“I know. But I must stay here in Kirkwall for a time. I promised Stroud a report. Will you carry that back for me?” She asked him.

  
Nathaniel sat up staring down into her eyes. “Why must you stay here? Must you go looking for your doom?”

  
With a sigh, Angharad sat up as well. “There is going to be a revolution soon. Every Circle, in Thedas is going to rise up against the Chantry. Circle mages, apostates, and maleficars, all will take up the cause. For a thousand years, mages have been told by the Chantry that we are cursed for our gifts. Andraste’s message of freedom for all was subverted and perverted by the Chantry who feared our powers but coveted them to be used as they desired. Mages have been enslaved in the name of the Maker.  But mages will no longer be willing to accept the word of the Chantry. The time has come when mages will say not true. Think of what that will mean.”

  
Nathaniel stroked his mouche as he often did while thinking. Finally, he said, “It would mean the overthrow of most, if not all, political and religious structures in Thedas, except, perhaps, Tevinter and Par Vollen. Maker, save us. The carnage will be horrific. And no mage will be safe.”  
“No one will be safe. Though mages will be at a distinct disadvantage.”

  
Nathaniel shook his head.  “How can you say that? With the power you command as a mage…Angharad, we have discussed this for but a few minutes, and I am already dividing us.”

  
Angharad leaned forward and kissed him gently. She was so fortunate to love this good man. “And so it will be, Nathaniel. Those of us who wish to live in peace with one another will be forced into the conflict anyway. Identity will be everything. There will be little or no room for coexistence for a long time. The mages will be handicapped, not only by their fewer numbers, but also by the brainwashing they have endured since childhood. It will be difficult for any mage to see themselves as a good and true child of the Maker. This is our weakness. And…and something is coming that will take advantage of that weakness.”

  
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed in thought. “But you were not raised to believe yourself to be cursed. And neither was Hawke. You were never enslaved by a Circle, you were never indoctrinated.”

  
“Only to the extent that I believed mages to be dangerous like everyone else. Of course, I never saw myself that way. Hawke and I are both free of the Circle’s teaching.”  
Nathaniel frowned and took her hand. “But what about your phylactery?  Did they not demand your blood when you were harrowed?” 

  
“Yes. The Chantry demanded my blood. And Rywik gave them a phylactery filled with mage blood. But it was not my blood. It was that of a female mage who died. It seems the elf is as good at sleight of hand as he is at magic. They can never use my blood to track me down. He saw to that. And of course, Hawke has never been a member of any Circle. He also managed to locate and destroy his own phylactery.”

  
“I am happy that the elf mage was good for something,” Nathaniel growled.

  
“Try not to hate him, Nathaniel. The Warden is still trying to save Thedas. What is your unofficial motto? Whatever it takes to defeat the Blight? You know what you guard in the prison in the Free Marches. What would happen if another Blight were to begin with the world embroiled in a civil war?” 

  
“You know of the prisoner we hold? How? I know some of it because of Etienne’s and my encounter with the Architect. But you know a great deal more than that.”   
Before she could answer, Nathaniel said, “Rywick, that’s how you know, Maker knows how he discovered it.  But a Blight on top of a continental war? Nothing good, that is certain. You believe that could happen?”

  
“It is a risk, Nathaniel. The Wardens know where the remaining Old Gods are imprisoned. Tell me what would happen if that knowledge were revealed to the intelligent darkspawn you encountered? Would they attempt to begin another Blight? Would they see our war as an opportunity to strike and obliterate us? It doesn’t all come from Rywik. Some comes from the Sight, some from Weisshaupt, and some from a wolf, a wolf in my dreams.” She lay back down on the bed and held up her arms for Nathaniel. He stretched back out beside her once more, and Angharad pressed up against him to feel his warmth. “I would not betray the Grey Wardens’ secrets. But you must see why you need to return to guard against this possibility while I must remain here to help contain the damage that will be inflicted.”

  
“Yes. I see it,” Nathaniel replied as he pulled the covers up over them both. Angharad turned on her side. Nathaniel pulled her close to him so that they lay like spoons. He rested his chin on her head, “Love you, anwylaf,” He murmured. 

  
“And I, you.” They fell asleep.

  
As they dressed the next morning, Nathaniel was very quiet, even for him. “What is it, anam cara?” Angharad asked him softly, as she braided his hair against the wind and tied it back.

   
Nathaniel, still seated on the bench said, “Angharad, we should get married before I leave. Delilah is here, and there may not be another time later.”  
“Why now, Nathaniel?” Angharad asked him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  
Nathaniel put his hand up to cover hers. “In part because I love you. But then, I’ve loved you since the beginning.  In part, it is because I am a rather possessive man, and I want the right to call you mine officially. But it is also because our being married may afford you some small measure of social protection, and because it is what little I have to offer you, anwylaf.”

  
She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I love you too. I do not need anything more than that, you know.”

  
“Yes, you do, or rather, you may.” He kissed her mouth and her temple before kissing her lips once more. “Come, we will need to fetch Delilah.”

   
Angharad and Nathaniel finished dressing, and then they made their way to Hawke’s mansion to find Delilah. When they told her they wished to do, Delilah hugged them both tightly. “This is a good day. Let me dress and we can be on our way.”

  
Delilah went upstairs. While they were waiting for her, Miri walked in her front door.  It was clear that she had not been home all night. “Good morning! You have plans with Delilah?”  
It was Nathaniel who said, “Angharad and I are going to be married today.” 

  
“Good news. It is nice to have good news for a change. It is nice to feel good for a change. May I come along?”

  
“Yes, of course,” Angharad said. “Please.”

  
“I’ll just put something else on. And I’ll see if Carver’s about. He should be there.”

  
Thankfully, Delilah, Miri, and Carver came back down the stairs before Nathaniel and Angharad could get too nervous.  “Congratulations, Squad Captain. You are a very lucky man.” Carver held out his hand.

  
“Yes, I am.” Nathaniel shook hands with his subordinate.

  
Together they all walked across the plaza in front of the Viscount’s Stairs and through the walkway that led a similarly large plaza in front of the Chantry.

  
The Kirkwall Chantry was not merely another church in which to worship the Maker and his holy bride, Andraste. It was the seat of the Grand Cleric of the Free Marches, and thus the most important Chantry in the entire region. The majesty of the building reflected its importance. 

  
It was the largest and tallest building in Kirkwall and seemed to be even more so because it sat on the highest peak in the City. The building itself was made of massive blocks of Kirkwall Stone, and its statutes were gigantic statutes of bronze that dwarfed everything around them. Like the Viscount’s Keep, there was a large, long set of stairs to climb to reach the carved wooden doors that stood three to four times the size of ordinary doors.

  
The interior of the Chantry was as impressive and imposing as the exterior. The interior space in which the faithful gathered to worship had a high vaulted ceiling that was taller than the two-stories it housed. Floors, walls, and ceilings were stone except for the large beams of wood and wooden doors. Andraste’s statute in the interior was taller and larger than any other in the Chantry. The Kirkwall Chantry represented little of Andraste, martyr, who burned at the stake. Instead, her statute displayed Andraste, triumphant, fully armored, sword in hand, leading her armies against the Magisters and the Imperium. In this, the Kirkwall Chantry artwork faithfully represented the Chantry’s goals to unite the world in the Chant of the Maker.

  
Andraste, who had been a slave, escaped her captivity and led the ancestors of Ferelden in a war against the Tevinter Imperium. The Imperium, governed by powerful blood mages known as Magisters, routinely killed slaves to use their blood in their powerful spells. For a time, the Chantry seemed to have conquered the Imperial culture, but the Magisters had ultimately regained power in the Imperium and were, to this day, sacrificing their slaves to impress one another with new and powerful magic. The Chantry’s strong stance on magic, mages, and blood magic, in particular, was fueled to a large extent by the excesses of the Imperium’s Magisters  
A fairly busy place during the daytime hours, the Chantry witnessed lay brothers and sisters coming and going as well as the avowed Sisters and Brothers who had been given to the Chantry by their parents at an early age. Of the sisters, some would take vows as Mothers and go on to oversee their own flock somewhere in the region. Their goal would be to minister to their flock and spread the Chant of Light throughout the world. It was into this seat of power and faith that Angharad, Nathaniel, Delilah, Carver, and Miri walked. 

  
“This place troubles me only a little less than the Gallows,” Carver said, more to himself than to anyone else. “I am ever glad to be away from it.”  
Angharad thought to herself that Carver may not have magic, but he had good instincts. He was right; this building reeked of old secrets and power, neutral power, but that which could be turned in either direction, power not always used for good.

  
The air was filled with the scent of burning wax as the large candles blazed in devotion to the Maker and his Bride from most of the hallways and corners of the Chantry.  Nathaniel took Angharad by the hand and approached the sister who was tending the candles in the hallway that led to the large platform on which the Mothers led the Chant of Light and gave their homilies.

  
 “Sister, we would like to be married. Is there a Mother who can perform the ceremony for us?” Nathaniel asked.

   
The young sister smiled and replied, “Certainly. A moment if you please.” The woman went in search of someone to perform the ceremony. 

  
Meanwhile, Sebastian had come down from the residential area of the Chantry to the Grand Cleric’s platform. He spotted them waiting in the well of the faithful at the base of the platform. “Good morning,” He said to them all as he joined them. “Are you here to pray then?”

   
“To be married,” Nathaniel replied. “The sister went in search of a Mother to perform the ceremony.” 

  
“Come up, and we will wait by the pulpit,” Sebastian said, turning toward the stairs.

   
When they reached the platform, Miri turned to Sebastian and said, “I am hearing rumors that Knight-Commander Meredith is seeking permission for the Right of Annulment. Do you know anything about that, Sebastian?”

  
Sebastian shook his head. “No, but I am not surprised. Not after the battle we fought with the Resolutionist blood mages. I can see that the Templars would wish to take radical action.” 

  
“You realize that it will mean the execution of every mage in the Gallows, and in the City, including the children? The Templars will spare none. It will be a Sword of Mercy for each of us.”

  
“I know. I pray it does not come to that. But you and I both know that the Divine in Orlais is considering an Exalted March against the City. If that happens, there will be many more men, women and children who die. We must hope that Annulment is not allowed.”

  
“I’ll do more than that,” Miri said under her breath. Angharad heard but she was not certain anyone else did.

  
Angharad felt Nathaniel’s hand tighten on her own. While she had not known that the Right of Annulment was being contemplated, she was not surprised. The Knight Commander was rumored to be going slowly insane. Her own Templars were corroborating this rumor. She was still lost in thought when she felt Nathaniel tug her hand.

  
To her surprise, the Sister returned with the Grand Cleric, who joined them on the dais. “Sister Wilhelmina tells me that the Champion of Kirkwall accompanies a couple who wish to be married.”

  
Nathaniel bowed as did Angharad.  “That is true, Grand Cleric. I am Nathaniel Howe and this is Angharad Whittall. He turned to Delilah and gestured, saying, “This is my sister, Delilah and of course you know the Champion. This is her brother, Carver, a member of my Order. Angharad and I wish to be married today.”

  
Elthina smiled. “If you don’t mind, I should very much like to perform the ceremony.  It isn’t often that I am called on to perform such a happy task these days.”  
Nathaniel bowed his head again. “We would be honored Grand Cleric.”

  
“Good, then let us pray,” Elthina said, and the ceremony began. By mutual consent, Nathaniel and Angharad chose the simple service, a prayer and the exchange of vows.

  
Elthina continued. “Good people, we are gathered here to witness the exchange of marriage vows between Nathaniel Howe and Angharad Whittall. Are you willing witnesses to this marriage?”

  
“We are,” Miri, Delilah and Sebastian replied.

  
“Very well.” Elthina  turned to Nathaniel and Angharad. “Nathaniel, please take Angharad’s hand in your own.” 

  
“Will you, Nathaniel Howe, take Angharad Whittall to wife?  Will you love her and protect her in good times and bad? Will you be faithful to her until death separates you?” Elthina asked him.

  
“I will.” Nathaniel said, smiling at Angharad.

  
“Will you, Angharad Whittall take Nathaniel Howe as husband?  Will you love him and protect him in good times and bad?  Will you be faithful to him until death separates you” Elthina said.

  
“I will.” 

  
“Have you exchanged tokens as a sign of your pledge to one another?”  She asked.

  
“We have.” They replied in unison, holding out their hands on which their rings were worn.

  
“Then please repeat after me, Nathaniel to begin,” Elthina said.

  
"I vow to you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine, from this day on it shall be only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning; I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine, nor shall a grievous word be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next.”*

  
Nathaniel and Angharad recited the vows one after the other

.  
Elthina smiled.  “Having exchanged holy vows and a token in honor of this pledge, I declare you to be husband and wife. May your union be as happy and holy as that of the Maker and his spiritual Bride, Andraste. So let it be.”

  
“So let it be,” the participants replied.

  
“You may kiss your spouse,” Elthina told them. 

  
Nathaniel tipped Angharad’s chin upward and he slowly met her lips with his own in a gentle kiss. This was swiftly followed by congratulations all round. Sister Wilhelmina prepared their certificate and Nathaniel offered the Grand Cleric the traditional coins for the ceremony.

  
“Please put them in the donation box for the poor. You’ll save me the walk.”

  
“Of course, Your Holiness. Thank you,” Nathaniel replied. “Come, wife, let us depart.” 

  
They all said goodbye to Sebastian and left the Chantry. Once outside, Nathaniel turned to Delilah. “I hate to say it, Delilah, but I think the time has come to book your passage home. The Marches are about to become a dangerous place to be, I think.”

  
Delilah agreed, but she turned to her new sister-in-law and asked. “Angharad, do you not wish to come with me? Ferelden is not nearly so violent to mages. Liam’s freehold is far away from any Chantry.”

   
“Thank you for the offer, but there is work to be done here. I cannot go home. Let us walk to the pursuer’s office at the dock and see which ships are leaving for Amaranthine. Like Nathaniel, I will feel more at ease knowing you are safely home again.” Angharad turned to Miri. “Thank you so much for coming with us today. Perhaps you and I can speak again in a few days?”

  
“I think that would be wise,” She replied. Then with a smile, Miri turned to Nathaniel and planted a kiss on his lips. “Congratulations, Nathaniel. May the two of you be very happy. Delilah, you are still welcome to stay with me until your ship departs.” To Carver, she said. “Will I see you later, brother?”

  
“Yes, Miri,” Carver said with only a little “grudge” in his tone

.   
“Be well, Champion,” Nathaniel said to her. “Join us later at the Hanged Man if you will. I’m buying!”

  
“Sounds fine,” Miri replied as she wandered off toward her home. Nathaniel, Angharad, Carver and Delilah took the steps down toward the docks. They found two vessels sailing for Amaranthine; one was departing the next morning. Nathaniel checked to see if there were other passengers and that the captain was respected. When he was satisfied that Delilah would be reasonably safe on her journey home, he booked her passage for Amaranthine.

  
Nathaniel sent Carver out with some funds to replenish their supplies for their return to the outpost, while Nathaniel saw Angharad back to the Hanged Man and escorted his sister back to Hawke’s residence so that she could pack. Angharad remained at the Hanged Man to finish her report to Stroud.  
   
 _To_ Warden Commander _Stroud:_

  
 _The situation in Kirkwall is deteriorating more quickly than anticipated. Knight Commander Meredith has pushed the mages of Kirkwall to the breaking point.  Some of her own men are considering mutiny as many believe she is going insane. There is something deeply wrong in this_ City _, even more so in the Gallows._  
 _There is no hope that the civil war seen by me and the other sagas in your order can be averted. While I know that your outpost guards a crucial secret, I warn you that you should move as many of your people, particularly your mages,_ into nations which are _less hostile to magic than the Free Marches. The Templars will leave the Chantry to engage in_ all out _war against mages everywhere, and they will not respect the covenant that exists between the Grey Wardens and the nations. I have seen it. There is something else, however, some threat I cannot see. What I feel is that this is the true existential threat to the Otder. I have tried many times to discern the nameless thing that lies ahead, but the way is blocked somehow._

 _As to the present threat, the Templars will demand that you turn your mages over for execution._ _As was explained by the Hero of Ferelden, I must remain behind until the hostilities begin.  As many mages as possible must be rescued from the Gallows. Knight-Commander Meredith has requested the Right of Annulment for the Kirkwall Mages. It is entirely possible that this request will be granted. While many of the mages here are_ demon ridden _, there are those who still are uncontaminated. In the name of mercy, we must try to rescue the innocent and help them find asylum. Should you have ships or caravans available, that will risk transporting mages to_ safe _haven, send word to any one of our mutual contacts in Kirkwall._

  
_Nathaniel Howe and Carver Hawke will see that my things are forwarded to the Hanged Man in Kirkwall. If I am not available to receive them, they may be left with Varric Tethras who resides there. Should I not survive this mission, please give Nathaniel Howe the papers I left on your desk the night I departed. May the Maker turn his gaze on us, Commander, for the battle will soon be upon us all._   
_Angharad Howe (née Whittall)_

  
Angharad sealed the report with her ring, 

  
Later, everyone gathered downstairs for drinks and a portion of the rather dubious stew on offer at the Hanged Man daily. One did not ask which meat made its way into the stew. It was better not to know. 

  
Quite a few of Hawke’s friends joined them on this last evening, come to sit around a large wooden table in the middle of the tavern and eat and drink together.

Angharad noted that although Miri Hawke and Fenris were seated across from one another at the table, their gaze met frequently. Angharad could see the change there. Whatever had occurred the night before had achieved some sort of resolution between them. They were more at peace. Fenris, Varric, and Anders were giving Carver a hard time of it but in the way of teammates and friends. To his credit, Carver took their guff in good humor. Delilah sat back, rather bemused by the strange assortment of companions at the table. Varric sat to her right and was keeping her in the game with asides about the others at regular intervals.

   
 Angharad decided that this was the perfect time to do something she had wished to do ever since they’d been married earlier. She excused herself, went upstairs, and came back with an odd-looking knotted rope. Angharad walked over to the musicians and gave them a coin while whispering to one of them. She came back over to the table and stood there, the knotted robe in hand.

  
“Messers, this morning, Nathaniel and I were wed in the tradition my mother knew and approved. But, among my father’s people, there is another tradition, that of the knots.” Angharad said to the table. Then she turned to the others who were drinking in the bar. “Are any of you from the Frostbacks?  Do you know the way of the Hill?” She said, loudly enough for all to hear.

  
A couple of the men came forward. “Aye. We are hillfolk.”

   
“This dyn needs to be told about the knots. Will you tell him?” Angharad asked.

  
“Aye. Listen lad. Your lady will sing a hymn and while she sings, you will untie as many knots as you may. When she is finished, you are finished. The number of knots you undo will determine the number of years you and your lady share. Untie many and you may have a lifetime together. Untie a few, and not so much,” the man said. “We will keep count as your lady sings.”

  
“Let me understand you. The number of knots I untie determines how many years we will share?” Nathaniel inquired. 

  
“How many years the marriage contract has to run,” The man clarified. “There’ve been more than a few who have willingly extended the contract beyond the number of knots, but it is not required.”

  
“Ah!” Nathaniel said. “Do I get a chance to practice?”

  
“No. But your lady has tied the knots. The question shall be: Did she make them easy to undo, or not? Time to find out,” the man said, with a grin.

  
By now the entire tavern was engaged in the ritual. Nathaniel took the rope in hand, laid it on the table and studied for a moment. Then he looked up at Angharad, shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I am ready, my lady. Any time.”

  
Angharad nodded to the musicians, who began a folk tune that was sung throughout Thedas. To this she sang a hymn to the Lady of the Skies. Unbeknownst to Nathaniel, it was a long song as Avaar hymns go. The men began counting out loud how many knots Nathaniel loosened. Angharad had asked the musicians to keep the tempo slow, and Nathaniel was dexterous.  In the end, he’d undone thirty knots in all. A large cheer went up from the Tavern.

  
“It seems lad as though you will share a lifetime together,” The Avaaran said. “May the Mountain Father bless your union.”

  
Nathaniel grabbed Angharad by the waist and pulled her in for a kiss. “So you’re mine for thirty it seems.”

  
“I like the sound of that,” Angharad replied, kissing him back.

   
They sat back down at the table. Varric was instantly interested. “So your father comes from the hill tribes in the Frostback Mountains. The dwarves of Orzammar trade frequently with the hill folk in that area, but we know little about them. Care to share any stories you have?”

  
“Certainly. I would be happy to tell you what I know,” Angharad replied. 

  
Everyone drank awhile longer and then began to head for beds. When Miri, Delilah, and Carver rose to leave, Fenris did so as well, but before he did so, he came near to Angharad and asked, “Why did you choose to interfere between Hawke and me?”

   
Angharad had the grace to look apologetic. “Ah. It is a nasty habit of mine. I often leap into the middle of others’ relationships without thinking. Had she been alive, my mother would have reprimanded me for such behavior. But when I see something injured or broken, I am overwhelmed with the need to repair it as best I may. Please forgive me.” 

  
“On the contrary, I am in your debt.” Then he caught up with Hawke.

  
Nathaniel put his arm around Angharad’s waist. “Come, wife,” he said to her, “we really should go upstairs and consummate this marriage. After all, we only have 29 years, 364 days, 22 hours and 7 minutes left.”

  
Angharad smiled at him. “Careful Nate. You are going to develop a reputation for being a man with a sense of humor.  You would hate that!”

  
He laughed, and they went up to their room. Later, Nathaniel, unable to sleep, held Angharad in his arms, unwilling to let go of her. A part of him wanted to demand that she return with him to the relative safety of the outpost and to the void with any duty she may have. Even before Flemeth’s dire warning, Nathaniel had felt a sense of foreboding about leaving Angharad in Kirkwall. He’d always hated this city, had always felt uneasy when visiting. To leave her here, alone, felt wrong even more so now that his worst fears had been confirmed by the witch.

   
But Nathaniel also knew Angharad. She was as driven to duty as he. As dangerous as his own calling was, he would not thank her if she were to interfere with his duties as a Grey Warden. Nathaniel felt he could not obstruct Angharad’s path either.

  
Nathaniel’s parents had hated one another. Their cold and loveless marriage had made any such relationship seem too risky to him as he was growing up. As a young man, he’d devoted himself to learning what he needed to know to be an effective man-at-arms and a potential leader. He’d stayed away from women, being unwilling to risk repeating his parents’ experience. He could not explain, even to himself, why it was different with regard to Angharad. He only knew that it was. And now the mere idea of losing her made him afraid as no battle had ever done. It was a long time before he could relax enough to sleep.

  
The next morning Nathaniel, Carver, and Angharad all went down to the docks to see Delilah off. Hugging her brother tight, her throat tight with unexpected emotion, she managed, “Take care, Brother. Remember to write me from time to time.”

  
Nathaniel was about to retort sarcastically, but he saw the unshed tears in his sister’s eyes, so he merely nodded, saying, “I will, I promise.” Nathaniel took off the dagger that he’d used for years and handed it to his sister saying, “This is for Liam. I purchased this blade at the Amaranthine market just before I left for the Marches to serve as a squire. I want Liam to have it. Tell him I hope that he has a child to give it to someday.”

  
“You are certain you do not wish to keep it for yourself, Nathaniel?” Delilah asked.

  
Nathaniel and Angharad looked briefly at one another.  He said, “I am certain. Liam needs to have this. It is a good blade and well-balanced. It will go well with the daggers I gave him earlier.”

  
“Very well.” Delilah tucked the knife away. To Angharad she said, “Remember, you always have a place in Liam’s home. Come to us if you need to. No need to write, just come.”

   
“Be well, Delilah.” Angharad said as they hugged.

  
Delilah turned to Carver. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Warden. You, too, are welcome at my son’s home.”

  
“Thank you, mistress,” Carver replied, bowing gracefully. Delilah turned and boarded the ship for home. They waited until the ship was out in the harbor and then headed back toward Low Town and the Hanged Man.

   
As Nathaniel finished packing, he said, “Angharad, write to me every week.  Even if you must send a special messenger; write to me every week.  If I do not have word, I will come.”

  
“Very well, Nathaniel. I will send word. “ 

  
The three of them left the Hanged Man together and walked in silence to the City gates.  Angharad asked Carver about his sister.

   
“We said our farewells this morning. Miri was not too overbearing. She seems to have mellowed a little.”

  
Angharad thought that perhaps it was Carver who was mellowing but said nothing.  Instead, she turned to Nathaniel put her arms around his neck.  She whispered, “You are my greatest joy. I could live a thousand lifetimes and not be as happy as I have been with you. “

  
Nathaniel held her close a long moment, then he kissed her a last time.  “We will be together again, Angharad. I swear it. Farewell, ‘m gwraig, be well.” He kissed her once more.  “Love you.”

  
He picked up his carry all, turned and walked with Carver through the City gates.

 


	14. Darktown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel returns to the Warden compound. Angharad goes to Darktown to help Anders run the clinic. An encounter with a Templar leads to an unsettling discovery and begins an ominous chain of events.

Chapter Fourteen  
Darktown

  
Once Nathaniel and Carver had gone, Angharad went back to the room at the Hanged Man, changed her clothes, packed her things, paid her bill, and set off to find Anders’ clinic in Darktown. 

  
Darktown was abandoned mine tunnels and sewers built by the Tevinters during the reign of the Imperium. Only the most desperate and destitute people lived there. Currently, those people were elves, Ferelden refugees, and various criminal cartels. Angharad was used to living in poor neighborhoods from her childhood days; however, Darktown was different. Its very walls radiated the agony and fear of the slaves who had been forced to work there. It was a place without hope.

   
Angharad had heard of Anders’s clinic from the people on the streets and in the markets of Lowtown. The poor and wealthy alike utilized his services; the poor came to him because he charged them nothing; the rich came when their disease was too shameful to take to their usual physician. He helped them all without regard to status or lack of it.

   
It was into this world that Angharad descended. It was easy enough to find Ander’s clinic. Most of Darktown’s residents knew of the healer. Though the clinic was little more than a large open barnlike space with double doors, Anders had managed to cobble together cots and an examination table of sorts. Shabby though the surroundings were, she noted that it was quite clean.. Anders was dispensing vials as she came in. He looked up briefly but did not acknowledge her presence until the line was gone.

  
“Hello. Didn’t you just get married yesterday?”

   
“I did. My husband is even now returning to the Grey Wardens, and I am here to offer my assistance to you here in this clinic.”

  
“And what makes you think I need your help?” he asked her sarcastically. “After all, I have been managing on my own for some years now.”

  
“That is true, I know, but it has begun to become a burden lately, has it not? Trying to support Hawke in the things she must do while tending to the needs of the sick here in Darktown? And then there is your mission. You must somehow satisfy Justice, and he grows ever more impatient. I can help you tend the sick, at least. Let me show you that I can be of use,” Angharad said to him speaking no more than the truth.

  
The Anders she remembered had been a tall, good looking, rather robust man with fine fair features and blonde hair. The good bones were still evident, but he was thin and pale, and lines were etched into his face. And beneath the rage and the sarcasm, there was a well of sadness so deep that a kind word dropped into it would sink and never find bottom. “Please, teacher, let be of some use to you,” Angharad repeated gently.

   
Anders lost the sneer. He sat down slowly on one of the cots. “Yes. I could use some relief.” A flash of the old Anders came through when he said, “Babies, it seems, like to come breech in the dead of night. It’s always the dead of night, never high noon, never midmorning. Twins too!  There must be an unwritten midwifery rule about that. Of course, they don’t share it with you. You just learn it when it is too late! It would be nice to have someone else I could send.”

  
“Good,” Angharad said.  “There is one more thing. May I sleep here?”

  
“Maker in Heaven, why would you want to risk sleeping here in Darktown?” Anders asked her.

   
“Because I must save what money I have for other things. Besides, you must remember that I used to sleep in the hall at the Vigil. At least here I might have a cot from time to time.”

  
“But what about your new husband? Is he not sending you coin on which to live? Surely, he would want—”

  
“Nathaniel has sent me most of his monthly stipend for some years now. Of course, I did not realize that he was beggaring himself to assure I was eating, but he was.” She smiled at Anders. “Anders, you know how expensive ingredients are for medicines. And there are other things that must be purchased. Nathaniel’s money is put to good use or saved for when he needs it. Have you ever heard of something called an exchequer?  I have learned that you may give them money and they will hold it safely for you until you need it. And they will even pay you a little if you will let them invest it.”

  
 “You have travelled a long road, Angharad, to know about the bankers.”  He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  
“Go and lay down before you fall down, teacher. What are your clinic hours?” Angharad asked him.

  
“Mid-morning when the lamp is lit.  Mid-afternoon, lit lamp.”

  
“So if the lamp is lit, then they come. Very well. I shall take the Clinic today. You try and get some rest.”

  
Anders did not need another invitation. He went to lie down on the cot in the far corner of the large room, the only one with a screen to afford some measure of privacy. Even with the light, he fell asleep quickly, deeply, as only someone sleep-deprived can.

   
Angharad set up the area to function as she preferred, feeling that it would be nothing to rearrange it should Anders have strong objections. While she did this, she found his supplies and his concoctions, some of which she remembered and some that were new to her. Organizing them, she made ready. Angharad took out the long linen apron she wore to protect her clothes and put it on. The apron had large pockets that were useful for holding instruments and things. When all was in place, she opened the doors and lit the lamp outside.

  
There were folk already lined up to see Anders. When they came in and saw a stranger there, some turned to go, but Angharad spoke up. “Gentlefolk, I am the Healer’s apprentice. I have worked with him long, and know how to heal as he does. The Healer is resting, but should I need his assistance with your matter, I am free to wake him. Please, come in and let me see to your needs.”

  
Some still left, but most stayed. Angharad began examining, diagnosing, and dispensing medicines. Most of the diseases, particularly those she saw in children were caused by malnutrition.  Even now, years after the Blight had ended; there were still Fereldens who were barely subsisting in Kirkwall. Angharad determined to send word to Alistair. His idea to bring Fereldens home again was a good one and needed to be expanded.

  
A set of parents brought in their little girl with a nasty cut on her hand. After cleaning and examining the wound, she determined that it needed stitching or magical healing. To the parents, Angharad said, “Her cut needs to be stitched or healed with magic. I can do either but know that the Templars can sense magic’s use and will question you should they cross your path. On the other hand, stitches will leave a scar and will be painful. I leave it to you.”

   
“We have enough troubles with the Templars hounding us refugees day and night about mages. Stitch her hand, mistress,” The child’s father said.

   
“Very well. She turned to the little girl and said, “Papa calls you little bird, ya?  Because you flit and fly about all day.”

   
The little girl nodded.  “I am Papa’s little sparrow.”

  
“Ah, I see. Well, Little Sparrow, your hand is cut rather deep. See?” Angharad turned it over so that the little girl could see the cut. “It will not stop bleeding until we close it. And so long as it is bleeding, it could get sick and make you sick. So, close the cut we must. I shall not lie to you. This may hurt. It may hurt so much that Papa must hold you still. Be angry at all of us for the hurting part, but remember, the hurt will fade, and you will be well. Understood?”

  
The little one frowned, obviously deep in thought, considering. Angharad waited patiently. Finally, the little one’s eyes met hers, and the girl nodded.  
Angharad bent down so they were eye-to-eye. “Good. But…on the other hand…if you listen to me well, Little Bird, we may be able to make the pain go away from you. So, listen well and all will be well.”

   
 She prepared her needles and the thread she would use having them soak in her disinfecting solution, explaining to the little one what she was doing and why. Perhaps the little girl understood; perhaps she did not. But Angharad could see that she felt included, a participant in what was to happen instead of an object to be worked on. Angharad looked to the girl’s father. “Sirrah, please climb on the table and hold your daughter against your chest, and then be prepared to hold her arm out for me,” Angharad instructed. When she had them in place, she picked up the amulet on her neck and began to rotate it in front of the little one’s eyes, allowing it to catch the light and twinkle. 

  
“Little Sparrow, look at the light on the amulet. Watch the light and listen to my voice.” Angharad began to recite in a sing-song tone, “Little bird, little bird you are sleepy now. Close your eyes, close your eyes, they are heavy now.  Sleep, little bird, sleep.”  Angharad repeated this over and over until the little one’s eyes grew heavy.   
When the girl’s eyes closed, Angharad said, “Little bird, little sparrow, you are in a warm and safe place. Your belly is full, and you are at peace. Your arm is very far away, far away, so far away you barely notice it. There is no feeling there because you are so far away from your arm, far away…” Angharad repeated this over and over. When she pinched the little one’s arm and got no response, she nodded to the father who lifted her arm up and held it straight.

  
Angharad took the child’s hand and, still repeating the soft refrains of peace, she stitched up the little girl’s hand with tiny little stitches that would make for a fine scar. When she was finished, she said to the little girl. “Little Sparrow, time to come home. Papa is waiting, time to wake up.  When I snap, snap, snap you will wake up and see Papa and be happy.”  Angharad snapped her fingers three times and the little girl opened her eyes and lifted her head to see her father.  “Hello, Papa. I went far away but now I am home.”

  
Her mother and father were amazed. “What did you do then? Some sort of magic?”

  
Angharad smiled. “No magic. Your little one has a great imagination! I used that to help take her mind off her hand. With some, like your daughter, they can imagine themselves right out of the pain. Others aren’t so lucky or gifted, but it usually helps most to relax.”

   
Angharad gave the mother a small jar of salve. “Put this on her hand twice a day, and she must keep the stitches dry or it will infect. You can bring her back two days after Holyday, and I will remove the stitches, or you can do it yourself if you have scissors.” They thanked her and offered her coin. Angharad did not know Anders’ policy on money but the parents did not seem to have much.

   
“Bring us back any plants you find, particularly healing herbs, and a map on how to find where they grow. It will help us make more medicines.”  
Only when the parents turned to leave did they see the three Templars at the door. One of them examined the little girl’s hand and sniffed the ointment before letting the family pass.

  
“Good morrow, sers, how may I help you?  Have you an ailment that needs tending?” Angharad asked them, sliding her hands into her pockets. One of them was a Templar Hunter, one who in addition to using Templar powers to dampen and subdue magic, could wield daggers and attack from stealth. The other two were simple warriors, low enough in rank not to have completely mastered the skills that drained mana and prevented mages from casting.  Angharad was suddenly glad that she had her knives strapped onto her wrists underneath her shirt.

  
“We are here to see the one they call the Healer. We would speak with him.”

  
“We are all called Healer here, ser, did you mean me? My name is Angharad.”

  
“Not you, woman, though I would know why you are here,” the Hunter said to her.  Angharad realized that this one would not be easily fooled and she was entirely grateful to whatever god had protected her that she had not used magic on the little girl.

   
“To heal the sick, tend the wounded, ease the broken-hearted. I can treat anything from bordello blisters to major wounds. I can deliver babies. I am a well-trained physician.”

  
“Ser Edrick, we are wasting time,” another one of the Templars said. To her, he added. “We seek the apostate who heals here. His name is Anders. Is he here?”  
“He is not on duty today. I do not know when he shall be on duty again. Now, sers, is there anything else?” The Hunter moved closer, close enough to force her to look upward to meet his eyes. 

  
She understood the maneuver. It was meant to make her uncomfortable and to take away her sense of her own power. It probably worked on mages who had been taught to submit their entire lives. Angharad, instead of allowing him to see fear, looked at him with amusement. In her imagination, she saw him stripped of all his pretty armor, standing in nothing but small clothes. She could imagine him that way. She even smiled as she envisioned a boil on his bottom. He saw the amusement and backed away a little, not understanding why she was not afraid. As she stared at him, the faux amusement faded as she realized that he reminded her of…there was something familiar…his dark hair, grey eyes, and a prominent nose. Sudden awareness made her face a blank. She pretended to stumble so that touching him would seem an accident.

  
The knowledge she sought was not in his memories, it was in his blood, bone, and skin. The Howe bloodline was strong, distinctive, and to Angharad’s dismay, she realized that this Templar was a Howe—not in name but in blood. She hadn’t stayed in contact long enough to read deeply, and to touch him again would be too obvious; so, pulling herself together once more, assumed an uncaring expression, though the shock of what she suspected overwhelmed her common sense. She wanted him gone. She wanted time to think about what she suspected.

  
“Unless there is something else, there are many people waiting to see me. Of course, I could send them to the Gallows so that your mage healers could do their work—oh but I’ve forgotten. Here in the Marches you keep the mages locked up and use their healing only for your own Order. Ferelden shares the wealth of its mages. In Ferelden, mages are allowed to heal anyone who needs healing. It is amazing how much more effective such a system is.”

    
Angharad allowed her voice to grow in strength, enough for the people behind the Templars to hear. “It is sad that you condemn the mages here but use their skills to your own benefit, Templar. Though presumably, you do so with a sword of mercy at their throat to be certain they get it right.”

  
“I should arrest you, for your impertinence,” Ser Edrick said.

  
“Arrest me? One little woman, who is tending the sick? One humble person, who wishes to do nothing more than help the helpless, uplift the poor, and ease their suffering?” Angharad taunted.

   
The people who waited at the door began to rumble and growl behind the Templars' backs. “She’s here to help us, Templar, leave her be.”

    
“My boy is sick! I need her help.”

   
“I need her help, go on your way.”  The cries from the people grew a little louder and angrier. Angharad merely stood there.

  
The Templar looked at her and looked at the crowd over his shoulder before looking back at Angharad once more. His eyes were hard, determined. “Next time. Next time.”  He turned and left with his minion following.

  
Angharad bit her lip to keep from taunting him as he left. She had already created an enemy in the Templar Hunter. It wouldn’t do to rile him up more.  Instead, she turned to the next person in line. “How may I help you?” She asked.

  
Anders, who had awakened the moment the Templars entered and had stood ready with his staff, came out from behind the screen. Without speaking, he began treating patients as well.  They worked together until the afternoon’s gathering was taken care of.

  
“Well, that was a fine way to bring Templar attention to this place,” Anders said, angrily, once they were done.

  
“They were here to arrest you. I had to draw their attention to me so that they would not search for you. Did you honestly think that Meredith would not send them after you sooner or later? She has long been aware of your location. Why do you think I am here, now?”

  
“How did you know my needs, or that Meredith would search for me.”

  
Angharad inhaled and exhaled, using the breath to calm down. “I am a Saga, a Seer, whatever you choose to call it, and I knew that things were coming to their conclusion here. You need to go somewhere else, Anders. Somewhere the Templars will not think to search; or, if they think to search, will not be allowed to search. Let us talk to Varric or Hawke. They may have some ideas.”

  
They put out the lamp to the clinic and shut the double doors tight before they headed up the stairs toward Lowtown and the Hanged Man. As they walked silently beside one another, Angharad debated as to whether or not she should start wearing the leathers she’d brought with her from the Outpost. She decided that leathers were too much an invitation to combat, and decided instead to purchase a cuirass that she could wear over a doublet. Long sleeves would be needed to hide her knives.  “May we stop at the armor vendors before we go into the Tavern?”

     
“Certainly,” Anders replied.

   
They stopped at the little stall. Angharad found a thin laminated cuirass that would do quite well. It would not stop a broadsword, but it would deflect a knife or dagger. After she bargained for a good price from the owner, they moved on to the Hanged Man. Once they got inside, they learned that Varric was out.    
Angharad said, “I cannot speak for you, but I am starving. Indeed, I am hungry enough to eat the Hanged Man special tonight. How about you?”

  
“I am not hungry.”

   
“Nonsense; that is the spirit talking. It should know by now that if you do not maintain this body, it will end up like Kristoff’s body, a walking, decaying, corpse and of no use to Justice. So, you are eating and drinking tonight so that you will have the strength to do what it is you came to do.”

   
“Were you always this overbearing? I remember you as being a rather timid mouse,” Anders asked her, amused by her authoritarian tone   
“I am no mouse when it comes to patient care. Angharad changed the subject. “So, you no longer chase skirts?” 

  
Anders, who had taken down his hair, gathered it back up into his ragged ponytail once more. “Justice doesn’t like sex. He sees no need for it.” 

  
“The ladies of the Vigil will be heartbroken,” Angharad told him.

   
Anders frowned. He looked back at her. “Still. Doesn’t matter. It isn’t going to happen.”

  
Angharad laughed. “I hope you didn’t think that was a proposition.  I was merely making an observation, nothing more.”

  
“What? No. Of course not!  I simply meant that there is no one here who interests me. At least not any longer.”

  
Their dinner arrived and they both ate. Anders had ale while Angharad had cider. They both took a guess at what the meat of the evening was, but neither could come up with a reasonable answer.

  
By then, Varric did make an appearance. “Hello you two. Lady Angharad, why are you still here in Kirkwall? Why are you not with your new husband?”

“Just Angharad, please. I am here as an envoy from King Alistair and Queen Anora. I am also here as a representative of the Grey Wardens though I am not one.”

  
“Given that the King of Ferelden is a Grey Warden, I can see how that would dovetail nicely,” Varric said. “So. What is Ferelden’s interest in Kirkwall?”

  
“Ferelden is interested in convincing as many of its native sons and daughters to return home. Now that the Blight has ended, there are many areas of the country that are lacking sufficient population numbers. Alistair and Anora would repatriate their people. I am here to help facilitate this. Perhaps you can help me spread the word among the immigrants?”

  
“What an interesting idea. And the King and Queen will pay their passage home?”

  
“Yes. And they are welcome to either strike out on their own once they reach Ferelden’s shores, or they are welcome to transportation to those areas that need good people to live there, along with a bit of coin and an ox. There is land to be had; good land that needs tending. Even some of the Blighted areas are beginning to show green around the edges. All are welcome. All are welcome save those who are demon-ridden.”

   
“You mean?” Varric started to say, but Angharad stopped him.

  
“Yes. All save the possessed are welcome. Can you help me spread the word?  I have coin to help with printings. We will need to arrange ships and other modes of travel if need be.” Angharad put a hand on Varric’s arm. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked my husband to send my things here. I knew that you would keep them safe if I could not. And, he always sends me money, usually through the exchequer, but this time he is worried that such a transaction will be tracked by the men in the shiny armor.”

   
Varric smiled. “Don’t concern yourself, Angharad. I’ll arrange something. And you are welcome to keep your things here.”  
“We must hurry. We are running out of time.”

  
Varric simply nodded his head. He was not surprised. He too, read the signs and knew that things could not continue as they were. “I’m certain that things can be arranged in a timely fashion.”

  
Anders spoke up. “We need to see Hawke. The Templars came to arrest me this afternoon.”

  
Varric stood up. “I’ll go with you then.  You may need an extra man to traverse the streets.”

  
Angharad paid the tab, and they left the Hanged Man. The market was now closed and the streets darkened. The three of them made for the long stairway from the Lowtown Market to Hightown. They were unopposed until they reached the empty market stalls of Hightown. There they were accosted by a band of the Silent Sisters.     
Angharad cast a gravity spell and stood at its vortex. As the sisters attempted to approach her, the increased gravity slowed them down to a crawl. Anders, outside the effect of the well, was able to cast destructive spells at the women. He used lightning and cold which were easier to control than fire, while Varric sent a bursting shot into a group of about three sisters. Angharad felt the spell weakening so she ran out of the vortex behind a sister who was concentrating on Anders. Angharad drew her knife and stabbed the sister multiple times on the right side. When the sister instinctively bent toward the injury, Angharad stabbed her in the neck.

  
She heard the sound of feet running toward her, and without looking, she cast a telekinetic spell, pushing everyone back about six feet from where she stood, including her dying opponent. Angharad did a quick 360 to determine how many were still standing. One of the sisters was carrying a two-handed sword and running toward Varric. Angharad yelled loudly and ran into her at right angles, knocking the other woman off her feet. She kicked her hard in the back but before she could turn to attack, Varric had buried a number of quarrels in the woman’s chest.

   
Anders took out three archers with a fireball. That left the rogue assassin who was somewhere around them, no doubt in shadow, waiting to strike. Angharad cast an all heal spell, pushing their health as high as she could just in time to prevent an assassin’s backstab from killing Anders, though he sank, injured to his knees.  Angharad cast an individual heal spell at the same time that Varric used an obscuring arrow to hide the wounded mage while Angharad cast a glyph of repulsion around Anders to give him time enough to recover.

   
She saw a shimmer in the air and dropped, just in time to have the assassin attempt to backstab her as well. Since the assassin hit empty air instead of Angharad’s back, she was overbalanced. Angharad came up underneath the assassin, lifted her with her own body and threw the woman down on her back. Before she could even turn, Anders had the sister in a crushing prison spell crushing the life out of her as Varric shot a quarrel through her heart. The bandit gasped once and died.  
They looted the bodies, and Angharad cast another heal spell on them all.

   
Varric looked at the dead sisters and shook his head. “And I thought we’d cleaned this bunch out for good last week. I suppose that some of them were out on contract somewhere and just got back. Come on; let’s get to Hawke’s house.”

  
When they arrived, Bodahn asked them to wait in the foyer. It was some time before Miri appeared, coming down the stairs in a robe over her small clothes. Obviously, she had no expectations of company, and she looked…flustered.

  
“Our apologies,” Angharad said, catching a flash on the balcony overlooking Hawke’s salon, She blushed. “This is awkward.”

  
Miri clearly resisted the temptation to look over her shoulder to see whatever it was that Angharad saw. Instead, she said, “Bodahn said it was important. Tell me. What has happened?”

  
“The Templars came to arrest Anders this afternoon.”

   
“And?”

  
“I was working in the Clinic, and Anders was resting in the back. A Templar Hunter and two Warriors came to the clinic asking for him. They were clearly there to take him into custody. We had—words. Fortunately, I was able to convince them to leave without searching the Clinic. But Anders cannot return there. I am certain that they will have someone watching.”

  
Miri thought about it for a moment. “Go to Fenris’s mansion. They will not think to look for you there. Stay there tonight, and I will be over in the morning to discuss a more permanent solution to this problem.” 

  
“You expect me to stay with Fenris?” Anders asked.

  
“No, I expect you to stay at his house. Now, goodnight.” Miri turned and went back into the salon.

  
“But—” 

  
“Come, Anders. It will be fine. Come,” Angharad told him. She looked back once over her shoulder once more toward the balcony and winked. Then she left with the others.

  
They walked out of Miri’s mansion and across the plaza, down the passageway and to the stairs on the left of the Chantry plaza. Fenris’ mansion was not locked; they went inside. Angharad and Anders both absently threw drying spells at the corpses lying about and Anders yelled out. “Fenris? Fenris?”

  
Varric spoke up. “He isn’t here, Anders.”

  
“Oh, that is just fine!  Now what. The last thing I need is for the elf to walk in just as I’m drifting off to sleep and have him remove my head from its shoulders,” Anders griped.

  
“He won’t be coming home tonight,” Varric responded.

  
“And how would you know that?” Anders asked.

  
“Because I believe I saw him run naked along Hawke’s balcony. At least I think he was naked.”

  
“Naked as a molting crow. Well, naked except for the tattoos,” Angharad confirmed.

  
“Andraste’s ass, she’s seeing the mage-hating elf again? Has that woman no sense?”

  
“When has attraction ever made sense my friend? Maker, those bodies still stink!” Varric said as he viewed the corpses.  “After all these years, they still stink!”

  
Anders turned around and flamed the two corpses into ash. “There. Happy?”

  
Varric looked startled. “Was that wise? You know how he is!”

  
“So, he hates the mages a little more than he already does. So what?” Anders told Varric.

  
“Messers, could you please tell me the tale? Why is Fenris so despising of mages?”

  
Varric smiled. “Come. Let us go up to the first floor and get a fire going in that room that should be a salon, and I will tell you the tale of the elf with the lyrium tattoos.”

   
They started a fire, straightened up a few benches, and found some wine. As they sat in front of the fireplace, Varric told her of how Fenris was a slave in the Tevinter Imperium who underwent a horrible procedure in which lyrium was branded into his flesh. He told her of how it wiped out all of Fenris’ memories of his family. Then he told Angharad of the terrible things Fenris witnessed and suffered as a bodyguard to a Tevinter Magister named Denarius.

   
“Fenris once saw Denarius sacrifice a dozen elven children at a name-day party for a friend in order to provide a magical light show in the sky. And that was one of the lesser iniquities he witnessed. The elf has good reason to hate mages. And yet, the one person he appears to love is a mage. It is the stuff of epics.”

  
Anders stretched out on the bed. “I’ve heard enough of the killer elf for one night.”

  
Varric poured Angharad another glass of wine. “So tell me about you, Angharad.”

  
 “My father was a farrier and my mother an herbalist and healer. We used to travel from town to town, but Mama became ill, and we ended up at the Vigil.  We were there when the Blight began.”

   
“Was that not your husband’s family seat?” Varric asked.

  
“Indeed. I met Nathaniel while his father was still the Arl but only for a short moment. He was sent to serve as squire here in the Free Marches. When he returned, his father’s title had been forfeited to the crown for treason, his father, mother, and brother were dead, and he thought Delilah was dead as well. He’d returned seeking vengeance for his family. He planned to murder the Warden-Commander in retaliation, but he was captured. Etienne Caron could have had him executed, but he saw something in Nathaniel; he conscripted him into the Wardens instead.” Angharad smiled to herself as the memory of the Warden-Commander came into her mind. She wondered, idly, if he and Giselle were happy. “Etienne Caron saved more than one life that night.”

  
Now that, my lady, is your husband’s tale. What of you?” Varric asked.

  
Angharad shrugged. “I am a peasant child who had a gift for magic. My parents somehow taught me to forget my gift to keep me from the Circle. But I am a Saga, a Seer, and that part of my gift could not be repressed. This came to the attention of the Wardens, who sent me to Rywik for training. My mother and Anders taught me healing and herbs. My Nathaniel and some others at the Vigil taught me combat, and Rywik taught me magic and more herbs and healing. I have been fortunate in my life to have so many excellent teachers.” 

  
“You condense it down, yet I someday I hope you will tell me more,” Varric said to her.  He looked over at Anders who was sound asleep. “Do you wish to remain here, or risk a return to the Hanged Man.” 

  
“There have to be other beds somewhere in this place. Let’s just find somewhere to sleep.” 

  
“Climb up there with Anders. I can make do with this chair. It’s too cold a night to be away from the fire.”

  
Angharad hesitated only a moment. Then she did as Varric suggested.  It was too cold to sleep in an unheated room, and it was too late to traverse the dangerous night-time streets of Kirkwall. Within a moment, she’d fallen asleep.

 


	15. Warden Outpost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel reports back to Stroud. Both he and Angharad learn something new about Rywick. Angharad creates a plan to stage a mage jailbreak.

Chapter Fifteen  
Warden Outpost

  
Stroud looked up from Angharad’s report to his Squad Captain now standing before him. Met at the gate with orders to report immediately to the Commander, Nathaniel started in that direction while Carver went on to the barracks. Once inside Stroud’s office, he saluted his Commander and presented Angharad’s report. He knew that the Commander was not pleased as he kept Nathaniel at attention.

  
“Angharad reports that the Knight Commander in Kirkwall has written for permission to perform the Right of Annulment on her Circle. Is this true?” Stroud asked.

  
Nathaniel, at attention, replied, “The rumor came from a reliable source, Commander. What is not known is the Divine’s response. What is also unknown is the true mental condition of the Knight-Commander. Officers in the Templars have expressed concern regarding her stability because she has become very repressive to everyone: mages, her subordinates, and even the Kirkwall gentry. She has also become quite reclusive. No one sees her in the city any longer.”

  
 “Angharad urges me to evacuate as many of my mages as possible. And despite that, Angharad stays in Kirkwall. Somehow, I do not think she sees herself as being a member of our team, Nathaniel.”

  
“It was the Order’s decision to send her to that renegade elf for training,” Nathaniel responded with more than a little touch of anger in his voice. “Perhaps he gave you more than you bargained for.”

  
“Perhaps he did. Rywik has disappeared.”

  
“What?” Nathaniel exclaimed.

  
“The Hero of Ferelden is missing. No one seems to know where he has gone. He was last seen at the Ferelden Circle examining books in the library. He was in the company of a female Dalish elf. Both left the Tower with a Circler mage in tow. That is the last anyone has seen of them. We are still searching, but so far, we have no idea as to where he is.  Bah! Enough of the Hero.” Stroud rubbed his forehead as though nursing a headache. “Tell me what went wrong with your expedition.”

  
Nathaniel clenched his teeth, drew a deep breath in and began to talk. He hated any sort of failure, and the expedition to the Deep Roads had been a disaster. “Our intelligence was wrong. Our allies told us that there would be little resistance. We met with heavy resistance. Had Angharad not brought Miri Hawke and her companions into the Road, Carver and I would be dead as well as those we lost.”

  
“Did we gain anything from this adventure?

”   
“Nothing gained, unless you count a healthy mistrust of future intelligence given us by that source. Instead, I incurred a debt to the Champion of Kirkwall for saving my arse,” Nathaniel replied.

  
“Yet I see from Angharad’s signature that you have gained a wife. Was that wise?”

  
Nathaniel did not respond. He was doing his best to control his anger.

  
“Well, Captain?”

  
“I have no answer, Commander, because I do not know if it was a wise decision.  I only know that it was a decision I made.”

   
“Yes, well. It is done. Is there anything else that you need to tell me?”

  
Nathaniel showed Stroud his palm and its newly inscribed rune. “I had an encounter with Flemeth in the Kirkwall market place. She had a warning for me concerning Angharad.”

  
“Mon Crèateur! Are we never to be done with this Witch? What does she want this time?”

  
“She wants Angharad to repay her for showing her how to save my life. And she told me what I must do to save Angharad when the time comes. She would not say why she bothers with us. But her words were true to Angharad all those years ago. I suspect her words to me will be true as well.” Nathaniel squeezed his eyes closed briefly to try and clear his vision. He was weary from the day and a half journey from the docks at Kirkwall and wanted nothing more than to clean up and go to bed, but he suspected he would have little of that this day. Stroud was understandably upset by all the chaos and by the loss of men and material in the Deep Roads.  He continued to stand at attention and wait.

  
“Captain, give me a written report by morning so that I may send your report along with Angharad’s to the First Warden. You are dismissed.”

  
“Sir, may I have permission to pack Angharad’s things and send them to her?”

   
“Certainly. Dismissed.”

  
Nathaniel saluted and left the room.

  
It took him the rest of the day to write the report, get cleaned up and find something to eat. It was almost sundown by the time Nathaniel was able to make it over to the infirmary.  Kiros and Leilien were making rounds.

  
“Captain?  May I help you?” Kiros asked, coming over to where Nathaniel was standing.

  
“Angharad asked me to pack her trunks. She will be gone for a while and needs her things. Please do not allow me to interfere with your work. I know it has been a long day.”

  
“How is the Physician?” Kiros inquired.

   
“Well enough when I left her.”

   
“Will you please tell her that we cannot thank her enough for the training she gave us? And tell her that the Wardens seem to be accepting of our help now.”

  
“Most certainly. Now, I had better see to her things.”

  
He went into the little room that has served as her bedroom and office combined. Packing Angharad’s things was bittersweet. Nathaniel kept coming across items that he remembered. He tucked a piece of her favorite soap into the doublet he wore under his leathers. Many of her things were already packed. Nathaniel smiled.

Obviously, Angharad had expected this and had begun to prepare. There were ribbons that Nona used to braid in Angharad’s hair, and her father’s shirt. Nathaniel ran his hand over the fabric of the shirt, remembering how she looked in it. He shook himself out of his reverie, and continued to pack.

   
He moved to her desk and saw that there were some letters there, missives from the Teyrna of Highever, Etienne Caron, and a note from Warden Sims. Angharad had friends in both high and low places. Smiling at the thought, he picked them up and discovered one more letter. The script was distinctive, and the seal on the back distinctive as well. It was from Rywik.

  
Nathaniel thought about the morality of invading Angharad’s privacy for all of about three seconds before he slipped his knife blade under the seal and opened the letter. He didn’t even pretend to himself that it was for a good cause. He just wanted to know what the mage elf was saying to his wife!

 _Angharad:_  
_Morrigan has been seen in the_ Kocari _Wilds. I must find her to learn whether or not I have a son or daughter, and if I do not go now, I may never know. Knowing Morrigan as I do, there is a good chance that she will kill me for breaking our agreement not to seek her out. I see nothing beyond seeing her once more. From there my future is unknown. My work, for the_ moment _is complete. Alistair has come into his own as King. And you; I have given you everything I know to give to see you through what is to come._  
_Angharad, do you remember what I said about the smallest things changing the course of the future? Well I wish to tell you a story:_  
_I was_ a very _small hin when the Templars found me and took me to the Tower. Back then my Sight was clear and strong. I remember visions of a young girl being brought to the Tower, one who became my friend and companion through our early days. I had visions of sharing a future with the girl who became a beautiful young woman. In the visions, Jowan did not ask me to help him escape. In the_ visions _I did not become a Warden. I stayed with the young woman because she was the most important thing in my universe. We were every day together, studying, and arguing and other things that were much more pleasurable. I cannot say whether she and I made it through Uldred’s uprising in the Tower, for suddenly the visions stopped, and I saw the young woman no more._  
_I saw her no more until the day I saw you, in the flesh. You Angharad. You were the girl, the woman. Of course, I knew at once what had happened. Somewhere, someWHEN, your father changed his mind and took a different road on your many travels. Or somewhere, your mother decided that you needed to stay an extra day in_ village _or leave a day early. Or perhaps the Templar in charge of the mage hunting party failed to look in your direction at the right time to see your rare display of magic. Whatever it was, they never found you. The Templars never ripped you from your parents’ arms and brought you to the Tower to live; and, because of that, we share a very different present._  
_You once asked me why there was no woman in my life. This is my answer. You were the woman in my life. And before you worry yourself into_ frenzy _over how you can heal this, stop. Stop now! I came to terms with this a long time ago. It is as it is. You love him. Ironically, I take comfort in the fact that he loves you just as much and would gladly die in your place if he could._  
_Angharad, I have given you what I could to help you through what is to come. I cannot be there beside you. Take care. You know what you face. You know the risks. Tell that assassin you adore that I had to be ruthless to arm you against the evil you will meet. Do what you must, but try to survive. Survive for Nathaniel’s sanity if not for mine. And remember that the smallest thing may mean the difference between living and dying._

 _Always,_  
Rywik _Surana_

  
_That son of a bitch_! Nathaniel thought to himself. _I knew he wanted her! The little bastard!_ The elf could consider himself lucky to have disappeared because Nathaniel, at this moment, would have been willing to track him down and slice him up. Nathaniel reread the letter. What in the Maker’s name did he mean? You know the risks? What risks? _Angharad, what haven’t you told me?_ Nathaniel thought.

  
Nathaniel worked to regain his composure. He folded the letter back up and warmed the seal enough to get it to stick once more. Then he put the letter with the others in her chest.  Nathaniel left the packed chests in her office. He would carry them over to be shipped the next day. He walked over to the barracks and went to his bunk. He, too, had mail from Rywik. Why was he surprised? He should have guessed.Nathaniel opened his letter.

  
_Nathaniel:_  
_I know you read her letter. My Sight may be tainted, but it still functions. And I would have read the letter_ were _the situation reversed._  
_Don’t try to stop her. You will only make a dangerous situation worse. Remember: I love her too. I want her to live, even if it is not with me. Just find her when the time comes._  
Rywik  
_P.S.  I’ve enclosed a letter for the Wardens. You can give Stroud this letter and not feel_ honor bound _to reveal that you violated your wife’s trust by reading her mail._  
_Bastard!_ Nathaniel thought once more. Then, he forced himself to calm down and try to get some sleep before he took everything to Stroud the next morning.

  
***

  
There was much discussion between Miri Hawke and Fenris regarding a new abode for Anders. The simplest solution was to have Fenris move in to Miri’s house and Anders squat at the abandoned mansion. Fenris opposed this idea completely. He did not want to give up his independence. He needed privacy at times, and he did not like Anders, who was not welcome to have his abandoned mansion. 

  
Miri’s next idea was to give Anders a key to her wine cellar which extended all the way down to Darktown and would be easy to get to from his clinic. Fenris did not like this idea either. It put Miri in danger. It allowed a crazy abomination into her house. Finally, Miri installed a new lock on the door leading from the cellars to the main portion of the house. Fenris was not happy, but he had to admit that she’d done away with most of his objections. He wasn’t going to convince her not to help the crazy abomination; he’d lost that argument with her a long time ago.

  
So, Anders took up residence in the wine cellar, and Angharad took up residence in the clinic. The plan was for Anders to stay away from the clinic until the Templars believed that he had fled Kirkwall. He would continue to help Miri with her projects, and it would give him time to help figure out alternate escape routes for the Circle mages who managed to get free from the gallows. Angharad would run the clinic. She also had to figure some way to stage a mass escape from the Gallows, one that would be successful instead of an abject failure as the last one had been. This meant destroying all the phylacteries kept there and somehow opening all the cell doors at the same time because Meredith had all the mages on lockdown. No easy task but necessary if the mission was to be successful.

  
During the day, she ran the clinic, saw the patients and dispensed medications.  In the evening, she studied the grimoire that Rywik had given her.  It was a very old grimoire with spells and methods of casting spells were not in use by the Circle mages. Angharad knew from her father’s stories that the Chasind, the Avvar, and others employed versions of this magic. As Angharad studied and practiced, she realized that some of the miracles attributed to Andraste may have actually been spells cast using sympathetic singing. The Chant of Light said that the Maker fell in love with Andraste because of her beautiful singing. Perhaps her beautiful singing had more to do with what it accomplished rather than its sound.

  
Angharad practiced at night. This was the most dangerous part of the entire affair because she could not use magic inside the clinic. The Templars were checking on her too frequently and could detect the lingering aura of magic and arrest her. Going out into the streets to practice was problematic because of all the bandits, marauders, louts, ruffians, thieves, and thugs who ran the streets at night.

  
In the end, Angharad was forced to go to Miri with the problem. Miri's solution was simple. Use the wine cellar. “After all, everyone in Kirkwall knows that I am an apostate mage; it is a fact they all choose to ignore because I saved the City. So, if my abode reeks a little more of magic than usual, no one will think anything of it. But you must allow me to learn the spells. That is my price.”

  
“Of course. I would welcome your company.” Thus, began the apostate’s circle, as Miri liked to call it. In the evening, after Angharad closed the clinic, she would slip across the way and into the hidden door to the wine cellar. Miri was often waiting in the cellar, along with Anders. She always had food laid out on a table nearby, rightly suspecting that Angharad was too busy during the day to eat much. 

  
Angharad gratefully took advantage of Miri’s generosity. The food helped her gather energy for the spells. The first time Angharad brought the grimoire with her, they lost almost a whole evening of practice because Miri and Anders both were too busy reading through the book, looking at the spells, marveling at its antiquity.   
“Whose grimoire is this?” Anders asked her. 

  
Angharad shook her head. “I thought it might be one of Flemeth’s grimoires, but Rywik assured me it was not hers. He would never tell me to whom it had belonged so long ago. Perhaps he did not know himself. He merely said that it had been in possession of the Chantry for hundreds of years, and he had stolen it.”  
“Maker, help us! That elf is such a renegade! Why did he give you this book?”

  
“Are you certain you wish to know?” Angharad asked her. “Anders has kept you apart from his work to free mages, and for good reason. He sees how you stand as a symbol for what a free mage can be in a society that will simply let us be ordinary citizens. I would not ruin that for you by involving you in treason. And I am about to help Anders with his goal. And it is both treason and heresy.”

  
Miri shook her head. “We all know that Meredith is making a peaceful solution impossible. I have no doubt that she will win permission to annul every mage in Kirkwall. The Divine will see it as a less expensive resolution to the issues here than an Exalted March. What better way to quell the voices crying for freedom than to murder an entire Circle in the name of Faith!”

  
Angharad agreed. The chance for peaceful change was long gone. “Very well. I plan to set free every mage in the Gallows, or at least as many as I can reach. I am arranging transportation for all those who are not possessed to flee to a country more accepting than the Free Marches. The blood mages will have to find their own way, as the offer of assistance for mages only applies to those who do not truck with spirits.”

   
She looked at Anders. “Before you say anything, know this. Those who would help us do not fear blood magic per se. But it would be political suicide for them to openly welcome blood mages into their lands. And as for the possessed….”

  
Anders shook his head. “You will have no argument from me. I am in full agreement with this idea. But how will you tell one from the other?”

  
Angharad replied, “You know how. Both you and Merrill are quite capable of sorting the wheat from the chaff, and so you will, if you will.  And for those you miss, there will be those waiting in that land who also know the signs of possession.”

  
“How will you get word to the mages?” Miri asked.

  
“It will have to be word of mouth. Written instructions are too dangerous. Something easy to memorize.” She thought longer and then said. “Why not a song?”

  
Miri nodded. “Songs are easy to remember. Songs are poetic. The symbols will seem innocent and harmless but they can be instructions to those who would flee. When?”

  
“First I have to be certain that it is possible. I will need to learn special spells to accomplish that which needs to happen. If I cannot find spells that will work, then a mass escape will not be possible. I pray that I can make it happen. And in order to succeed, I must get to work.”

  
Angharad was interested in three spells. The first was a spell to break glass. Simple, but she had to be able to break glass at a distance. There was no possible way she could get close enough to the phylacteries in the Gallows with an ordinary spell of shattering. The second spell she needed would be akin to a rod of fire. The spell had to burn hot enough to make metal melt, but not set everyone in its radius alight!  That would be very difficult. And finally, she needed to be able to shapeshift into a flying animal. Very difficult!

  
Night after night, Angharad practiced until she was able to shatter a specific vial she placed somewhere in Darktown without moving from Miri’s cellar and without breaking any other piece of glass around it. The important part was the distance. Angharad did not care if every piece of glass in the Gallows shattered. She just needed to be able to reach into the depths of the Gallows dungeons to shatter the phylacteries stored in the cool caverns there.

   
The shapeshifting was more difficult. She had to be able to fly. The problem lay in converting her mass into a more compact form.  If she chose a bird that was too small, she would be too heavy to fly. And, at the present time, she did not have the strength to become something truly large such as a griffon or a dragon. Angharad experimented with different birds until at last she was forced to settle on a swan. A swan was large enough to maintain her mass in flight, small enough to manage without completely draining herself of all mana.

   
The last spell remained elusive. She could not find a spell that would melt the metal locks of the gallows without harming those who were nearby.    
“What am I going to do?” Angharad asked Miri and Anders as they were gathered one evening.  “I have to be able to open all the locks at once. There is simply no other way.”

  
“All right. You must open all the locks at once. Melting them is too dangerous and there is no spell for mass lock picking,” Anders said.

   
Angharad wandered around the cellar, staring at the walls, staring at the ceiling, scuffing the ground with her shoe.  She turned in a slow circle.  How to open the locks.  How to melt the locks. How to shatter the locks.  How to—her attention focused on one of the old wine casks. Angharad walked over to it and looked at the metal band that surrounded the wooden planks.  She took her finger and scraped along the metal band, and then looked at the reddish substance under her fingernail. She whirled around.

  
“What are the locks made of in the gallows? What are they made of?  You’ve been there, do you know?” Angharad asked them both.

  
The both thought about it, and both Miri and Anders said, at almost the same time, “Iron. They are iron. As are the gates.”

  
Angharad broke into a smile. “Iron!” She laughed. “Iron!” “I have it!” Angharad ran to the grimoire and thumbed through it. “Here it is. A spell of oxidation!” Angharad turned and looked at Anders and Miri in turn. “I won’t just rid the doors of their locks; I’ll rust every set of bars in the gallows!” She laughed and laughed. “I will rust them all away.” Angharad read the grimoire again beginning the process of memorization.

  
Now the magic was in place. It was time to deal with logistics. Angharad saw Varric to arrange the ship captains willing to take on this risk. It was not easy. They had to find those who were greedy enough or dedicated enough to risk the certain punishment that would be theirs if they were caught, but not those who were so greedy that they would sail for Tevinter with the mages to be sold as slaves. It took some doing, but they found three ship’s captains whom they felt they could trust. Now they had to decide on the date.

   
“When is the anniversary of Andraste’s execution?” Angharad asked Varric.

  
“In five weeks,” Varric responded as they sat before his fire in the Hanged Man. “If you want that date, Angharad, you must decide now.  To wait any longer will risk losing the ship’s captains who may be out on another route at that time.”

  
“I want that date. It is perfect. The high holy days will distract the Templars. You know what a show they always put on as they stage the execution. Many of them will be at the Chantry rather than the Gallows. This will make it easier for the escapees to make it to the ships. With any luck, they will be out of the harbor and at sea before the Templars can mount a counter offensive. You have the gold. Half now, the remaining when we have word that the mages are safe.”

   
Later that very night, a new song began to circulate Kirkwall. The tune was catchy, the words, easy. By the end of the week, every tavern in Kirkwall sang the song of the swan.

  
_The Swan will Fly_  
_The swan will fly_  
_To the harbor mouth._  
_The swan will fly to the sea._  
_The swan will fly_  
_to the land in the South._  
_The swan will fly to be free._  
 

_When the chains rust away_  
_midst the shattering glass,_  
_the imprisoned shall be free._

_The swan will fly_  
_to the harbor mouth._  
_“Come, come,” she cries,_  
_to the harbor now,_  
_And ride the waves to be free_

By the end of the third week after its introduction, one could not walk the streets of Kirkwall without hearing the song sung or whistled.

  
Angharad purchased a plain spirit staff in the Lowtown market and an inexpensive white linen shift. When she arrived back at the clinic to open for the day, Angharad found her trunks waiting inside. Waiting outside were people who needed attention, so her trunks had to wait until that evening. When she had put out the lamp and closed the doors, Angharad was finally able to see to her things. Laying atop her other letters was a note from Nathaniel.

  
  _‘M_ gwraig _:_  
_The foreboding I feel at this separation is only kept in check by the letters you have faithfully written these last weeks. Thank you for that. My anxiety is made worse by the fact that things have been unusually quiet for the Grey Wardens. It does not feel like peace. It feels like_ stillness _before a squall._  
_I want to see you, but there is little chance that I shall for some time. The Commander was not happy with either the outcome of the expedition or our marriage. Between the two, I almost think our marriage upset him more. I suspect that leave will be long in coming._  
_Keep writing, Angharad.  I love you._  
_Nathaniel_

  
Angharad laid Nathaniel’s note aside and then opened Rywik’s letter.

   
As she read, she began to cry. They’d often discussed his leaving to find Morrigan. She was, perhaps, the only person living, aside from Alistair, who knew why Rywik had survived the slaying of the archdemon. Morrigan, who was Flemeth’s daughter, had offered him a solution.  She could help him perform an ancient magic ritual that would keep the archdemon’s soul from destroying his own at the moment of death. There would be a child conceived.  Her payment was to keep the child. Rywik had to agree never to come looking for either of them.

  
His desire to see for himself if he had a child was one of the few personal goals Rywik had ever shared with her. He’d always been her teacher, her mentor; and, as she had grown in power and experience, her peer and colleague. Never once had he betrayed the trust he’d fostered in her by allowing her to know how he felt. Angharad could not imagine the strength of will it took to do that.

   
She saw him clearly; the tiny elf child, alone in a strange world among humans who no doubt tormented and teased him unmercifully. She would imagine him fueling his determination to continue by the promise of someone who would be there to share his life. Angharad cried harder at the thought. How bleak his life must have been after the visions ended.

   
Some would have given up at that point, but Rywik was both a phenomenal mage and a strong willed being. He’d found purpose in becoming the best mage he knew to be; and he used his energy to become not only the most gifted mage the Circle had seen in a generation, but also an educated scientist and healer.

  
She’d hated him for what he’d done to Nathaniel, hated him. And yet, it was that hate that fueled her desire to become the best mage she could be. By the time she was powerful enough to even attempt to kill him; she had changed too much, learned too much. She had become him in a real sense and hated him no longer. How well he’d known her! How well he’d understood that saving Nathaniel was the only thing strong enough to break through the wall her parents had constructed around her magic. How well he’d loved her to deliberately destroy the good will he’d fostered in her to unlock her gifts.

  
Angharad cried harder. Rywik was gone, and there was no way to thank him now. Nathaniel was away, and she could not share her plans with him. He must be completely unaware of her part in the revolution, or they would kill him as well. Never had she felt so alone.

  
There was a loud pounding on the wooden doors. It continued on an on, until Angharad could do nothing except open the doors. Outside was her nemesis, Ser Edrik and his minions.  “Good Even, Ser Edrik, how may I help you this night?” Angharad asked him.

  
Edrik gave her a cold stare and did not respond.  He slowly circled the clinic space looking, touching, moving things. As he came near her he spied the two trunks. He smiled a self-satisfied smile. “Oh. What’s this?” He flipped back the lids on the trunks. One held mostly clothing and her letters. The other contained her herbs, potions and other medicines. “I wonder what we’ll find in these trunks. Perhaps evidence that you are not a simple healer?” Ser Edrik questioned gleefully.

  
Angharad’s years of training kept her from giving herself away. If he read Rywik’s letter, she would be lost. But before she could say anything a voice came from behind them all.

  
“What you will find, ser, are my wife’s personals and her herbs. They are the ones I brought to her.”

  
They all turned around and Angharad smiled. Nathaniel stood there, seemingly at ease, dressed in his Warden’s uniform. “Do you always invade a lady’s privacy in this fashion?”

  
Ser Edrik responded. “And exactly who are you?”

  
“Nathaniel Howe, Squad Captain, Grey Warden of the Free Marches outpost. And your name, ser, that I might remember it to your Knight-Commander?” Nathaniel asked, not bothering to salute the Templar.

   
 “I am ser Edrik, Templar Hunter.” Edrik replied. As the two men moved closer to one another, Angharad felt a great sense of foreboding. Nathaniel and Edrik moved with the same easy grace, and Edrik’s features were eerily similar. The Templar’s nose was also like an eagle’s beak.

  
“Ser Edrik. Let me repeat my previous question to you.  Do you intend to invade my wife’s privacy?  If you do, then perhaps you and I should have words on the topic.”   
Templar and Warden stared at one another and then, Ser Edrik backed down. “We are finished here for this day.” He looked over to Angharad. “Mistress Howe. We will meet again. Good even.” Edrik and his men left.

  
Nathaniel closed the large door and locked it once more.  When he turned around, Angharad was in the far corner of the room hunched over a bucket. Nathaniel stayed back.  He knew that Angharad hated the fact that her stomach often betrayed her nerves. He watched with a small smile on his face as she moved to the water bucket and washed out her mouth.

  
Nathaniel looked about the shabby quarters, located in the worst part of Darktown, which was the worst part of Kirkwall. Had he not met Ser Edrik, he was certain that he and she would be fighting even now over her choice of accommodations. But he had met Ser Edrik, and knew they had more important things to discuss than where she was sleeping.

  
She came to him now, and he enfolded her in his arms, allowing himself the moment of pure contentment that holding her gave him. He kissed her and then hugged her tight once more.

  
“Nathaniel.  What are you doing here?  Your note said that Stroud wouldn’t give you leave to see me.”

   
“To tell the truth, Angharad, I’d forgotten the note. And I am not on leave. Carver was attacked by Carta members. When we interrogated one of the survivors, we learned that they were after Mistress Hawke as well. He kept saying something about the blood of Malcolm Hawke. Stroud sent the two of us here so that Carver could enlist his sister in a search for the answer as to why they are targets.” 

  
Angharad leaned back in his arms and said, “You think you know why Miri and Carver are targets?”

   
Nathaniel nodded. “Corypheus. The Wardens believe that somehow he has found a way to reach out from his prison and search for allies.” 

  
“I suspect that your Order knows more than it is telling either Carver or Miri about this,” Angharad said to Nathaniel who nodded.

  
“Let us say that before Miri was born, the order persuaded Malcolm Hawke to help us contain Corypheus in his prison. We needed an untainted mage.”

   
“An untainted mage? Oh, now I understand. An untainted mage. No wonder your superiors have gone to great lengths to keep me from the joining ceremony. I suppose I am their next untainted mage? To renew the wards that hold Corypheus in his prison?”

  
“No doubt that was the plan. No doubt that is why they were so eager to send you to Rywik and discover if you truly were a mage.”  
Angharad stepped back from Nathaniel and said. “Did you know of this?”

  
“No. Not until very recently, Angharad. I would have told you.” Before she could reply, Nathaniel said. “Love, you should know that I read Rywik’s letter.” He removed another piece of paper from his doublet and handed it to her. Angharad read Rywik’s note to Nathaniel and smiled.

  
“He knows us both quite well, it seems.”

  
“He knew me well enough. I am not prou—“Angharad laid her fingertips against his mouth.

  
“It is of no matter, Nathaniel. I would have shown you his letter anyway.” Angharad read both letters once more and then destroyed in the brazier she kept burning to warm the clinic. “Is there anything else that would betray me in the trunks?” Angharad asked Nathaniel.

   
“I cannot speak for the other letters, Angharad. I did not read those.”

    
Angharad read the letters. Fortunately, none of them revealed the fact that she was a magic-user. Angharad went though both trunks. It was as Nathaniel had said. There was nothing here to indicate that she was anything other than a purveyor of henbane and leeches.

  
Nathaniel watched Angharad with increasing trepidation. “Let us go and find a room for the night, ‘m gwraig, somewhere where we can feel reasonably secure,” He told her. Angharad took up a staff and went with Nathaniel up the stairs to the Lowtown and the Hanged Man. The innkeep still had a small room available which Nathaniel and Angharad gratefully leased. They undressed for bed, but when Angharad reached up to kiss Nathaniel, he gently stopped her, pulling her down to lie in his arms.

   
“Talk first, Angharad. Is it not time you tell me what is happening here? Why is that Hunter after you?” Nathaniel asked her quietly, stroking her hair.

  
“Because he is very good at what he does. He knows what I am, but by his own rules, he cannot act against me until he has proof. So far, I have managed not to give him any, but that will end soon.” Angharad smiled and moved her head so that Nathaniel could continue to stroke her hair. “That feels good, Nate.”

  
“You are planning some sort of attack,” He said to her, still running his hand through her hair.

  
“Not an attack. Anders will provide that. No, I am planning an escape. I am planning a way to remove as many innocent mages as possible from harm’s way before Anders opens the gates of the void and unleashes hell-all on the world,” Angharad said, as she turned toward him.

   
Nathaniel stopped stroking Angharad’s hair and sat up. “I suppose this is what Rywik meant about not stopping you.”

  
Angharad sat up as well. “Yes, love. It is.”

  
“You ask a great deal of me.” Nathaniel stood up and moved toward the fire. “Mayhap you ask too much.”

  
“No more than you have asked of me, Nate. Nona reminded me once that I can never make you safe. It is true for me as well. You and I were not sent into this life to be safe. We are here to risk everything.” Angharad moved behind Nathaniel and put her hands on his shoulders. She leaned against his back. “Nathaniel. Our world is about to come apart at the seams. You and I could be simple farmers somewhere in Thedas and still fall to the violence.”

  
Nathaniel turned around and looked down into her eyes. “Knowing a thing and feeling it are two different things. I know what you say is true, but I do not feel it. I came very close to murdering that arrogant bastard tonight.”

  
“Well, husband, your chance may come, but not tonight.” She rubbed his mouche. “Let us go to bed.”

  
They got back into bed. Nathaniel kissed Angharad and ran his hand through her hair once more. “Your hair is longer. You should cut it, Angharad.”  
“Why Nathaniel? Do you like it better short?” 

  
“It is safer. If your hair is short, you cannot be held by it.” 

  
Angharad laughed, pulling gently at his hair.  “And this is from the man whose hair I braid?”

  
But Nathaniel did not laugh in return. “It is a small thing. But Rywik said that life or death could depend on a small thing. Indulge me in this, anam cara.”  
“Of course, my husband,” Angharad replied, and then she kissed him.

 

 


	16. Preparations for the Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected attack on Carter Hawke brings Nathaniel back to Kirkwall. While the Hawkes decide how to answer the Carta attack, Angharad and Nathaniel move forward with preparations for her attempt to free the Gallows mages.

Chapter Sixteen  
Preparations for the Task

  
Nathaniel and Angharad caught up with Varric in his rooms at the Hanged Man the next morning and told him about what had occurred with Carver and Hawke. Varric, whose family had been dwarven nobles at one time, was one of the best informed, most connected people in Kirkwall. He was particularly well informed about the Carta, a dwarven group of organized criminals whose influence stretched from Orzammar to Kirkwall and beyond.

  
After hearing what had occurred and the intelligence wrung out of the Carta captive they'd interrogated, Varric decided to go up to Hightown with Nathaniel and Angharad to discuss what should be done with the Hawkes.

  
When they arrived at Hawke's mansion, they found Miri, Carver, Fenris, and Anders already discussing who should go and who should stay behind.

   
“Carver and I must go. After all, it appears to concern us directly. I’d like another healer along, so that would be Anders, and Varric’s knowledge of the Carta and its doings might be valuable,” Miri said to them all. She nodded to Angharad and Nathaniel who sat down with them. “But there is another project that cannot be ignored. We must make provision so that Angharad can go forward even if we do not return.”

  
“Everything is in place, Hawke. But there are details to coordinate.”

  
“Anyone else who can manage at this stage aside from yourself?” Miri asked him.

  
Varric shook his head. “No.”

  
“Excuse me, but may I ask as to the nature of this project?” Nathaniel inquired of them all.

  
“I am going to attempt to free the mages in the Gallows and send them to Ferelden. Someone has to coordinate the arrival of the boats. It has to be timed so that they arrive across the harbor at the gallows just as the mages are fleeing the main gate of the Gallows. Too soon, and the Templars will realize that something is amiss. Too late, and the Templars will slay the mages before we can get them safely to sea.”

  
Nathaniel nodded and then turned to Varric. “If you are to go with my warden and Miri, then I will stand in your place if you are not returned in time.”  
“Are you certain you wish to involve yourself, Warden? After all, the Order prefers to remain neutral whenever possible.” 

  
Nathaniel smiled at Varric. “That is the rumor, I’m told.” He looked from Varric to Angharad. “But as this involves my wife; let us just say that this project is personal.”  
“It is settled then,” Miri said to them all. “Nathaniel, Varric will brief you on what needs to be done. We will leave later this afternoon. You and Angharad are welcome to stay here. With luck, we shall return before Andraste’s execution day.”

  
Nathaniel shook his head, an amused grin on his face, but he said nothing. Carver’s sister was definitely a force to be reckoned with. No wonder Carver had issues. Nathaniel was beginning to see how the Grey Wardens were the younger Hawke’s salvation instead of his nemesis.

   
“If you are not returned by the time Angharad’s project is completed, we will come to find you.”

  
Miri started to say something, but Nathaniel continued, “Carver is under my command. We do not leave our people behind.” Miri nodded once. To Varric he said, “At your convenience, messer.”

  
“Why don’t we head back to the Hanged Man, and we can discuss all this while I gather my things together for the trip.”

  
Nathaniel, Angharad, and Varric went back to the Hanged Man. The three of them spent about two hours discussing Angharad’s plans. Varric gave Nathaniel the papers he would need to assure that the boat captains would heed him when the time came. Varric got his things together and they all walked back to Miri’s home.

  
Nathaniel took Carver aside and told him, “Leave a trail for me to find, Warden, just in case.”

  
Carver nodded. “Ayah, messer. I’ll do my best to ensure that you do not need to follow it.”

  
“Do you see anything, Angharad?” Anders asked her softly.

   
“No, but then I know that you, at least, shall survive. You still have your part to play in what is to come. That has not changed,” Angharad told him.

  
“You have visions of me?”

   
“No, not visions. But I know that you will return from this journey. Just try to bring your companions back with you. I’d hate to lose Carver before he works out his sister issues.”

  
For a brief moment, the old Anders was there. He smiled. “You will see to the clinic?”

  
“Yes, of course. Maker turn his gaze on you.”

  
“And on you.” 

  
Miri, Carver, Anders, Varric, and Fenris set out for the area the Carta member had revealed to them. Fenris planned to accompany them to the site. Angharad suspected that he hoped Hawke would change her mind and let him go in with the rest of the team.

  
Once they’d gone, Angharad and Nathaniel had found that Bodahn and Orana had carried their things up to the guest room in the mansion. As they walked up the stairs to see, Angharad leaned closer to Nathaniel and whispered. “I’m not certain about staying in Miri’s house. It seems rather strange to occupy her home while she is away.”

  
“It is done all the time, Angharad. You remember how many distant cousins used to show up at the Vigil for a meal and a place to sleep. Besides, do you really want to sleep another night in the Hanged Man?  I don’t think I have any unbitten skin left.” 

  
“Good point. I’d better launder our things right away. I wouldn’t want to share the Hanged Man’s creatures with Hawke’s home,” Angharad replied. She ran up the stairs but found that Orana was already seeing to that. 

  
“You needn’t wait on us, Orana; I used to be servant girl in a large keep. Nathaniel and I can tend to our things.”

  
“Oh, no. It would be my pleasure. Mistress Hawke saved me when my father was murdered by blood mages and let me be her servant. She even pays me,” Orana explained.

  
“Natrually, she gives you wages. Fereldens do not believe in slavery. We fought a hundred years war for our own freedom,” Angharad replied. 

  
Orana looked surprised. “I did not know the mistress was Ferelden. But then, oh well.  Let me see to your things. It would make me happy to do so.”

  
Angharad was defeated at that point. She spoke with Bodahn, who happily filled her in on the routine schedule of the household. “Mistress Hawke said to make any accommodation you required, Mistress Howe. So please, whatever you need, we will see to it.” 

  
“Nathaniel and I will do our best to adhere to your schedule. Thank you for your kindness to us. I know it means extra work.”

  
Household arrangements settled, the next order of business was to see to the clinic. Angharad and Nathaniel went down at mid-morning to open the clinic for those who needed it.  In the weeks that Angharad had been running the clinic, she had organized shelving for supplies and repaired cots. Angharad had even reorganized space so that there was room to brew potions, make ointments, and unguents. Nothing spoke to her more of Anders’ deterioration so much as the state of disrepair he’d allowed the clinic to reach. She’d remembered him as a fine physician and apothecary as well as a mage healer. Clearly as the spirit had eaten up more of him, his ordinary skills had suffered.

  
What was also interesting was the attitude of those from the Coterie and Carta who dropped in to try to extort money from or to intimidate Angharad that morning. Instead of the expected lone woman, they were met by a fully armed and very dangerous looking fellow sporting a gryphon tattoo on his forearm who informed them that the clinic’s fees were paid in full to the end of the month according to Varric Tethras. They suddenly became quite polite and word circulated in Darktown that the Grey Wardens had taken an interest in the clinic.

  
The Templars were not intimidated. Ser Edrik and his men came by about an hour after Angharad opened the doors of the clinic to the patients. Nathaniel’s presence was noted, but they believed themselves to be the equals of the Grey Wardens in skill. Nathaniel did nothing to explode that fantasy. In his mind it was always a good thing to have your opponent underestimate your skills. The truth was that because of Grey Wardens like Alistair and a few others, the Templars’ magic skills used to defeat mages were a part of Grey Warden training for a select group of warriors, Carver being one of them. 

  
What concerned Nathaniel was the look that Ser Edrik gave Angharad when he thought he was unobserved. Mixed in with the antipathy was a deep hunger aimed at Angharad. Nathaniel wondered if his desires were for Angharad personally or if the man simply felt that way about all female mages. Whichever it was, Nathaniel was not going to let him think that his lust had been unobserved. Nathaniel walked over to the Templar Hunter and lowered his voice so that only Ser Edrik could hear. With a smile on his face, Nathaniel said, “If you ever touch my wife, I will gut you with your own knives.”

  
Ser Edrik returned Nathaniel’s hard stare. Whatever he was, he was not a coward. “Consorting with apostates can be a capital crime, Warden. Perhaps you won’t be there to gut me when I touch your wife.”

  
Nathaniel leaned closer. “I’ll come back from the void if I must to fulfill the promise I just made, Templar.” Nathaniel’s voice was ice cold and deadly. “Meanwhile, I suggest you leave now before they hang me for murdering you today.”

  
Ser Edrik and his men left, but Nathaniel was not satisfied with the outcome. The man had some personal vendetta going against Angharad, and he was so filled with hubris that the Templar truly believed he could harm her without serious repercussions. That made Ser Edrik dangerous, and that concerned Nathaniel a great deal.   
Nathaniel and Angharad locked the doors to the clinic for the dinner hour and went up to the docks to get some fresh air and a meal. They bought fried fish from a local street vendor and went down to the wharf to sit on the crates and eat. The sun was shining in a bright blue autumn sky, and it was almost impossible to imagine that anything terrible could happen on such a beautiful day. Nathaniel and Angharad talked desultorily of many things. He filled her in on the places he had seen since they’d last been together. Nathaniel, who was usually pretty stoic, actually relaxed and seemed like a young boy on an adventure. Clearly, he loved the travel, the new places the new people. Angharad smiled brightly.

  
“You may speak fondly of home, Nate, but you clearly love this life of adventure that you lead with the Grey Wardens,” She teased, handing him a clean cloth to wipe his face and hands with. Nathaniel pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms about them as he stared out across the water of the harbor.  The wind coming in from the sea blew his hair away from his face and he inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of salt and sea and dock. 

  
“I must admit, I do love it, Angharad.”  He turned his head to look at her. “But you, if you could have your heart’s desire, what would it be?” 

  
“You,” Angharad replied promptly, but Nathaniel shook his head. “Not fair. Too easy. No. In addition to me. If I could give you anything at all in this world that would make you happier, what would it be?”

   
Angharad tried to smile but her eyes filled with tears.  Nathaniel hopped down at once from his crate to sit beside her. “Anwylaf, what is it? Why do you cry?”  
Angharad bit her lip and then said, “I suppose I am homesick. I would love to be at the Vigil once more. It was the only home I had known, and I miss it a great deal sometimes.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I must seem a fool to miss that hulking old keep, but despite the things that happened, and the siege, it was the safest place I had ever known. I would love to return to my old workroom and visit with our friends at supper in the Hall. I would even see you drunk and singing as they carried you out to soak your head in the rain barrel.”

  
Nathaniel put his hand to her cheek. “You are no fool, Angharad. The Vigil is our home. You have a right to miss it, and you are right not to feel safe here. This town is a slaughterhouse and a honey trap. That Templar wishes you dead, my wife. But first, he wants to make you beg for that death. I may have to kill him before I leave.”  
Angharad closed her eyes against the vision and nodded. “I know what you want to do, but that would end badly, and it would not save me. We would both end up dead. Come for me when it is time. You will know when.” She saw that she had taken away his happy mood. Wrapping her arms around his, she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “Let’s not think on what could happen. Let us just enjoy these days together. I don’t want to waste them worrying.” 

  
Nathaniel stood up and pulled Angharad to her feet. He gathered their things and they put them away. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist and said, “Come then, anwylaf. Let us walk a little while longer and enjoy the sunshine before we return to Darktown.”

  
They strolled together in the sunshine arm in arm. For a little while they were nothing more except a husband and wife discussing married things together. They returned to the clinic and worked for the rest of the afternoon. Angharad did use healing magic once during the day. A workman was brought in with a deep cut and a severed artery. She used a heal spell to knit the artery back together. She closed the tissue and skin above it with regular stitches, and just prayed that the Templars would not be back until the magic had dissipated.  An hour or so later, they pulled the large doors closed and then snuck into Hawke’s cellar entrance and up to the mansion.

  
As Bodahn had said, supper was ready at the appointed hour, but rather than have the servants set the formal table, Nathaniel and Angharad joined them in the kitchen to eat.  At first, Orana was a little nervous; she did not know what to make of it, but Bodahn and Sandal seemed to enjoy their company. Angharad and Nathaniel told stories of their days at Vigil’s Keep, and of Ferelden.

  
“I want to go home,” Sandal said as he often did.

  
“So shall we all, someday, Sandal. Home to the cold, and the damp, and the rocks, and the mud. Home to a place that loves its dogs. We shall all go home to Ferelden one day,” Angharad assured the simple man who seemed childlike and innocent. Sandal smiled, and so did she. They continued to eat their meal in good company.   
Nathaniel and Angharad hauled water in buckets upstairs, for they had discovered that the mansion had a bathing room with a large beaten copper tub. They poured cold water into the tub and Angharad hit the water with a fire spell to bring it up to a good temperature. They lined the tub with linen sheets and got in together to soak. It was a tight fit, but they did well enough with it. Angharad noted that Nathaniel had a few more nicks than the last time they’d share a tub.

  
“Nate!” Angharad exclaimed at a particularly ragged scar on his shoulder.  “This should have been stitched or healed by a mage. Do you have no one to go out with you on patrol?”

  
Nathaniel looked over at the scar. “Oh. That battle. The mage was busy with some very serious injuries, so I used your salve to disinfect it and slapped a bandage on it. Aside from the ragged edges, it healed well enough, I thought.” Still speaking over his shoulder, he said, “And that reminds me, love, can you make me some more of the salve? My lads tend to use it as well, so it goes quickly.”

  
Angharad kissed his shoulder. “Of course. There are a number of herb sellers in this town. We can purchase what we cannot find.”

  
Nathaniel stood up and grabbed a linen cloth to wrap around his middle.  Then he turned and pulled Angharad up and wrapped her in one of her own.  He used a third to dry her hair and his own hair.  Ever orderly, Nathaniel picked up the bathing room before they crossed the short hallway to the guestroom. The room was warm from the fire in the hearth, and Nathaniel snatched Angharad’s cloth away the moment they closed the door.

  
“What?” Angharad said in mock surprise and covered herself with her hands in the classic pose of maidenly modesty.

  
“I’ll have none of that, mistress,” Nathaniel told her in a pseudo serious voice. “I want to look at you in all your glory!”

  
Angharad slowly removed her arm from across her breasts and from over her hips and thighs, holding them out and away while she stood, one hip cocked a little higher than the other with the leg forward. 

  
“Like this?” She asked him smiling.

  
But Nathaniel’s face was serious. “By the Maker, I wish I were an artist that I might capture such beauty and hold it on canvas or in stone. You are most beautiful, Angharad,” He said, his voice filled with wonder, stepping closer and running his hands over her skin. “I do not know which excites me most, the look of you in my eyes, the feel of you under my hands, or the scent of you in my nostrils as I lean in to kiss you.”  He took her arms and wrapped them around his neck. “Is it the sound of your voice?  The beat of your heart? What is it that enthralls me so?” He kissed her neck. 

  
“I can only tell you how it is for me, Nathaniel.” Angharad ran her hand over his shoulder. “It is the way your collar bone meets your arm, and the angle of your jaw. It is the shape of your hands and the curve of your back, and the taste of your skin and the way you touch, and your reasoned responses, and your impassioned cries and—”

   
She stopped for a moment her voice seized with emotion. Finally, she was able to go on, “It is all those things, Nate. It is the passion I feel when we make love, and the peace I feel when we sleep together, and the pride I feel at being your lady; and most of all, it is the happiness I feel from knowing that you exist.”

  
Nathaniel tipped her face up and kissed her before saying. “Yes, that is it. The happiness I feel at knowing you exist. To know that you are real, and alive, and in my world delights me.” He drew her closer. “Kiss me again, sweeting.” Nathaniel used his tongue to tease her mouth open and kissed her deeply in a long slow kiss. They were not touching except for their mouths and Angharad’s fingers lightly entwined with his hair.  But as they continued to kiss, Nathaniel ran his hand softly down Angharad’s back, over her buttock and then back up her inner thigh. When she gasped softly, he kissed her again as he explored. 

  
They moved to the bed and began to make love with all the freedom and perfection possible to two who knew each other’s bodies well. Angharad loved the feel of Nathaniel’s mouth at her breast as his hands caressed her inner thighs. Nathaniel had a particular passion for being kissed on his belly and hips while being touched and caressed almost to the point of no return, though his navel was off-limits as too intense. When they did join, each liked to watch the other as they made love so that their own pleasure was intensified by the other’s passion.  Afterward, they lay together as long as possible before moving apart because it was in those moments that they felt truly one with each other. 

  
They had a week of peace and contentment, a short time in which to pretend that they shared an ordinary life with all the usual joys and sorrows. They worked the clinic together, though Nathaniel did take the time to make some fresh poisons and new arrows. At midday, they bought easy-to-eat foods and searched out places to sit where they could watch the water or the people shopping or working.  At night, they shared their meals with the household staff and helped to clean up afterward.   
Nathaniel helped her cut her hair so that it was too short to grab, tucking away a lock for his own reasons. They spent their nights making love or simply lying in bed and talking. It was a gift of peaceful time for which both were thankful.

  
The Templars came one more time to the clinic in that week but found nothing to help them make a case against Angharad and left again.

  
While they waited, the City was gearing up for the highest holy day of the year.  The day on which Andraste was executed was celebrated throughout all Thedas by Andrastians. People wore red or yellow, the color of the flames, and some carried replicas of the Archon’s sword of Mercy.  It was a solemn day, with a Chantry service and a passion play in which some young woman played Andraste being taken to the place of burning. She would sing the chant as the pretend fires were “lit.” Someone important was chosen to play the Archon who would deliver the “sword of mercy” to end Andraste’s suffering in the pyre. There would be chanting and parades of Templars bearing their shield signs on high for all to see. Pilgrims and visitors flooded in from all over the Marches to attend the service and see the parade. Vendors also came from all over for the chance to make a hefty profit from the crowds of sightseers.

  
There were two days left before the holy day when Angharad and Nathaniel received word that one of their boats had been damaged in an altercation with pirates as they were coming into Kirkwall. The captain reported that he was unsure as to whether or not he could be seaworthy by the time he would be needed. They were just finishing up the afternoon clinic when word had come from the docks.

  
“So, what will you do?” Nathaniel asked Angharad.

   
“I have a backup plan. We’ll use the ship we are certain of and put as many of our friends on board as we safely can. We will still send the second ship out to sea once he is able to sail. If we cannot fill it with mages, let us find Fereldens who wish to go home. We need to send as many as we can convince to leave. Nate, can you coordinate that? We need to find some way to password to the Fereldens. There isn’t much time but…and tell the captain to fly a yellow pennant on the mainmast. Any will do, just so long as it is yellow.”

  
“And what of the mages who cannot fit into the ship?” Nathaniel asked her. “What will you do with them?”

   
“They are going to fly, Nathaniel,” Angharad told him.

  
“Fly?” Nathaniel repeated. “Fly?  Angharad how?”

  
Angharad smiled. “Tonight, we’ll go to the cellar, and I will show you how.”

  
That night after supper, Angharad took Nathaniel to the cellar. She removed her wedding ring and gave it to Nathaniel to hold. Angharad stepped into the middle of the room, raised her hands and began to sing. As she sang, she made two complicated movements with her hands and began to glow. She held her arms upward as the glow grew brighter and she began to shrink and morph into a bird. In less than a minute, Angharad was no longer a human being, she was now a swan.

  
Nathaniel’s jaw fell open. He started to walk toward her but she began to glow once more so he stopped. He watched, amazed as she became a woman once more, albeit a naked one. His eyebrows shot up at that.

   
“Angharad that is an amazing transformation, though the grand finale might be a little more attention-getting than you desire.”

   
Angharad shook her head. “I know. Rywik said that Morrigan could shift and shift back again and retain her clothing, but I haven’t figured out how to do that.” She looked at her clothing puddle on the floor. “That is why I will have to have clothing waiting for me where I land.  It is a problem, and one I have not solved yet.”

  
“But are you able to actually fly, Angharad. Have you tested it?” Nathaniel asked her. 

  
“Yes. I can. I have flown. You see, Nathaniel, like blood magic, the templar countermeasures do not work on these spells. The transformation does not need to come from mana, although it can. The energy can be drawn from the elements of nature, although it is difficult, and mana is easier to employ. Rywik has trusted a few mages with the secrets of this magic so that when the time comes, it can be taught to many.”

  
Nathaniel nodded his head. “My guess is that the Chantry has deliberately suppressed this magic form because they cannot control it. Having mages who can become lions would be problematic, I presume.”

  
“Or rats, who can escape through the smallest of holes. No. The Chantry has limited the Circles to teaching spells they can control and use in wars. To them, we are a tool to be employed and then put away until the next time we are needed. They do not see us as human beings, Nathaniel, nor do they wish other people to see us as human beings. If that happened, then some might actually see that the Circles are a form of slavery.” 

  
Angharad continued to dress. “Ferelden has begun to understand. This generation at least is grateful for the three mages who stopped the Blight. Rywik has used this to great advantage for us.”

  
But Nathaniel was only half listening. He was pondering her plan, trying to figure out what she was going to do. “So, you will not only transform yourself but also the mages who cannot fit on the ship. How?” He asked her.

   
“By using all the power in a very good staff that holds a great deal of mana,” Angharad said. “But there’s no help for it. I will need the mana to help them change.”  
“Maker! So, the tales of princes being turned into frogs—that happens?” Nathaniel asked.

  
Angharad nodded. “Yes. Among the barbarian tribes who still hold to the older rites and among those who learn the secrets of transformations through other means. But the spell only holds for a time. Eventually, the transformed regains his or her true shape.”

  
Nathaniel knit his eyebrows together and stroked his mouche reflectively. “Old rites. Old rites.” He paused and then said, “Angharad, what about the tales of witches using a glamour to hide behind. Could you not glamour your clothing?”

  
And there it was. The solution. And it was so simple. Why had she not thought of it? Angharad kissed Nathaniel firmly on the mouth and said, “You incredible man! You are so smart!  A glamour. Glamour the clothing! Of course. Thank you, Nate.” Angharad said, kissing him once more.

  
“At your service, my lady,” Nathaniel told her, pleased that she was happy with his solution.

  
The next day, Nathaniel went out and organized the impromptu evacuation of Fereldens from Kirkwall to Amaranthine. Angharad gave him a letter of credit from the exchequer to work with which was substantially more than he expected. “How came you to have so much money to use Angharad?” He asked her, rather stunned by the size of the credit.

  
“Let me see: Some of the money are funds from the Ferelden King who has long been interested in the return of his people; some are funds from Rywik who willed to me most of his funds before leaving to find Morrigan; and some of the funds are yours, Nathaniel, from all those years during which you sent me most of your money,” Angharad told him.

  
“Why did you not spend the money I sent you? I wanted to be certain you were cared for.”

  
“And I was. I never went without anything I truly needed. I always had food to eat, clothing to wear, shelter, and the items I needed to do my work. When I needed something, I used the money. But I have few needs. Aside from what I have described, what else should I have bought? Besides, love, I knew that someday you would need these funds; so, I kept them for you. You should be able to calculate how much of this came from your pocket. After all, you are the one who sent them to me.”   
“But whose money do I use for this venture?” He asked.

  
“Rywik wanted his money spent to free the mages. I hope that someday he will find his way back to Ferelden, so I should like to have some of the funds left to return to him. The King would see his money spent for the émigrés who return, although Ferelden, still recovering from the Blight, has little money to spare,” She told Nathaniel.   
“Very well,” He said to her, tucking the letter away along with her seal and giving her a quick kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”

  
Nathaniel first went to the docks to see for himself how much work needed to be done on the ship. After assessing the damage, he hired some additional workers to help the captain make the repairs. He also remembered to tell the captain to fly a yellow pennant. The captain was agreeable for a small fee. Then he went to see Lirene, at her shop, the woman who had worked tirelessly for years to better the lot of Fereldens in Kirkwall. He explained that a ship would be leaving for Ferelden the next day and that it would provide free passage for Fereldens who wished to return home. Lirene knew at least four families who would want to take advantage of the offer.

   
Nathaniel’s next stop was the Hanged Man and then the Blooming Rose. A couple of the women who worked in the Rose immediately asked to go. Nathaniel could tell by their speech that they were native to Ferelden. He wondered how grateful the King would be to know that he’d repatriated prostitutes, but Nathaniel decided that everyone had a right to go home. By the end of the day, Nathaniel had managed to find a total of about twenty-five Fereldens who would be willing to climb aboard the ship and return to Amaranthine. The ship could hold more, but it would have to do. He’d given everyone instructions as to when to be at the dock, and made a note to himself to be sure to provide food and water for those who waited on the repairs.

  
He returned to the Clinic as Angharad was closing up for the day. He helped her lock the doors, and they made their way into Miri’s cellar and up the stairs. They joined Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana in the kitchen and ate a lovely meal together. Afterward, Angharad took Bodahn aside and told him about the ship going home to Ferelden.   
“There is room for you and Sandal if you wish to go,” She said.

  
“My lady, that is kind of you, but Sandal and I must see to his future. He has been offered a place at Val Royeaux by the Empress herself. Mistress Hawke and I have already discussed it.  We’ll be moving on soon. I need to make sure my boy has enough put by for the day when I am not here any longer,” Bodahn told Angharad.  
“What about Orana? Has any provision been made for her?” Angharad asked. 

  
Bodahn explained about Orana and how she came to join the Hawke household. 

  
“I see. I’ll need to speak to Hawke then about her.”

  
“Yes messer,” Bodahn replied.

  
Angharad went on upstairs to join Nathaniel in their room. She lay out her things for the next day: The simple shift, the plain shoes, the cheap brown serge cloak, and hood, a mask and a very good staff. She removed her amulet and her wedding ring and placed them in her trinket box. Angharad wanted to wear nothing tomorrow that would identify her. Satisfied that everything was ready, she undressed and got into bed. 

  
Nathaniel took her hand in his and frowned and took hold of the other. “Angharad, your hands are ice!”

  
Angharad pressed close to him. “I confess. I am terrified. Nathaniel, what if I blunder? What if I fail? It is not just my life but the lives of the people who will most certainly die should I not succeed.” She tucked her head into his shoulder. “It does not feel the same as the fighting we have seen before. Then, the blood was hot. I had not time to think on what might be. I simply did as I trained. This is different, Nate. I must be cool and collected and act a part I barely understand.”

  
Nathaniel turned on his side and lifted her chin so that she could see him. “Yes. That is what you must do, Angharad. That is what you will do. You will reach deep inside yourself and do what you must to make this happen.” 

  
Nathaniel sat up and leaned against the headboard of the bed, pulling Angharad into the shelter of his arms. He held her hands inside his own to give them warmth as she leaned her back against his chest. Nathaniel kissed her shoulder and her neck and then said softly against her skin. “It is different, Angharad. As an assassin, I have done things similar to what you must do. It is more difficult than combat. But you are strong enough, my beautiful wife, to do this.”  He kissed her shoulder again. “Trust in the training Rywik gave you, anam cara. As he reminded me once, he did defeat an archdemon. He is most assuredly an excellent elf mage.”

  
Angharad turned around and took hold of Nathaniel’s hand once more, kissing his palm. “Thank you. I was beginning to doubt myself.”  
“Never doubt yourself. You will do this well,” He assured her, leaning forward to kiss her lips. “Come here, my love and let us lie down and get warm.” Nathaniel slid down under the covers. Angharad smiled and joined him there. 


	17. Andraste's Holy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowing that the Templars will be fully engaged in the remembrance of the day Andraste was executed, Angharad stages a jailbreak for the mages at the Gallows, using magic the Chantry knows nothing of and has no defense against.

Chapter Seventeen

Andraste’s Holy Day

  
The next morning, Nathaniel and Angharad dressed and ate a small meal of cheese and bread in silence. Before they started out the door of Miri’s Hightown mansion, Nathaniel turned to Angharad. “You have everything?”

  
Angharad did a mental check and looked around at her things. “I believe so. Oh, I almost forgot. Were you able to find blankets and clothing for the people?  
“I was able to find enough, though it was not easy. I purchased food enough to see them across to Amaranthine and for a few days more,” He told her.

  
“Thank you. You are ever so much more organized that I,” She replied.  She slipped her hand into Nathaniel’s. “Let us go then.”

  
Together they walked outside and into the Viscount’s square. Though it was still fairly early in the day, the people were already gathering for the High Holy Day celebration. By the time the parade was to begin, the Chantry Plaza would be filled to capacity and beyond, with barely enough room for the parade members to make their grand finish.

   
Nathaniel and Angharad headed down to the docks to where the parade would begin.  They were there to observe the Templars’ arrival dockside at Kirkwall. It was there that the parade would line up and begin, moving from the docks, through Lowtown, and up the grand stairway to Hightown for the finish. The City guards were already posted at certain areas to maintain crowd control so that the parade could move through the city streets and not be stopped by merry makers.

  
Angharad and Nathaniel both dressed in clothing that would blend well with the crowd of the ordinary people who would flood the streets of Kirkwall for the holiday. Like many other couples, who lived in Lowtown, they walked casually up the stairs looking for a good vantage point to watch the parade. Others, street urchins and cutpurses, more interested in thievery than the parade, sought positions from which to spot easy marks, 

  
The Alienage remained quiet. In a sense, this was a day of mourning for the elves. The elven ancestors fought alongside Andraste for their freedom from Tevinter. This was short-lived, however, for within a few generations, the Chantry marched against them, destroyed the elves’ culture for a second time, driving them into serfdom from which they had yet to recover. Few elves were on the streets, and none would celebrate save for the committed Andrastians.

  
Finding an empty spot that afforded a good view of the dock from which the Templars would come to assemble for the parade, Nathaniel and Angharad sat down and took out their breakfast. Nathaniel had a spyglass with him, but he would not need it until Angharad crossed the harbor and landed on the far side. Meanwhile, Nathaniel and Angharad sat on their crates and watched the morning unfold. By the time the Templars began to land, they were a part of the scenery, just another couple of bodies in the background, certainly not anyone to notice. 

  
The first ferry boat of Templars arrived around the time of the sun’s traverse into the second quarter of the morning. A sight to behold, the Templar Knights were dressed in their finest armor, polished to a high gloss with their winged ceremonial helmets on for good measure. A great banner, held proudly aloft, proclaimed their unit, and their unit commander wore a special sash for the day. 

  
A second boat arrived with another unit, highly polished, banner swaying in the sea breeze, then a third and finally a fourth. In addition to the last unit of Templars, the fourth boat held Knight-Captain Cullen and his superior, Knight-Commander Meredith, her personal guard, and Orsino, the First Enchanter and head of the Circle. With their units lined up, Meredith, Cullen, and Orsino, took their places. 

  
Now the brothers and sisters from the Chantry arrived in their High Holy Day garb with suns blazing on their tunics and staffs adorned with golden suns as well. The crowds thickened, musicians arrived, and the Chantry folk began warming up.

  
No more boats came across the harbor. Nathaniel leaned over and whispered. “I count three hundred Templars here for the parade. That leaves about fifty to guard both the Chantry and the Gallows. My guess is that most are still at the gallows. You may count on at least thirty, Angharad.”

  
Angharad nodded. “Yes, but they will be spread out. I hope to have our guests on their way before they can regroup.”

  
Nathaniel did not speak.

  
Within moments, Andraste arrived. The girl looked the part of the martyr today. She had a sweet, innocent look to her. Clearly, those who were staging the Commemorative play wanted a face that would engender sympathy for the martyr and hatred of the Tevinter Magisters. Indeed, those who were playing the mages were almost stereotypically evil-looking. Innocent Andraste murdered by the wicked mages was today’s theme. 

  
The young girl began the Chant of Light in a beautiful voice. At least the Chantry knows how to put on a good show! Angharad thought to herself as the brothers and sisters took up the refrains. The parade began and the marchers began to wind through the streets of Lowtown along the twisting route to the main staircase. As the Templars passed, Angharad’s eyes met Knight-Captain Cullen’s. Angharad bowed slightly to the Knight Captain in acknowledgment. He dipped his head slightly in return.

   
Knight-Commander Meredith met her eyes briefly as well. Angharad could not repress the shudder she felt. There was very little that was human left in those eyes. The Knight-Commander still somehow held herself together through sheer will, but that resolve was deteriorating.  How could Cullen not sense that?  He’d been in a similar situation before, during Uldred’s rebellion at the Ferelden tower. If anyone should be able to detect madness, it should be he.  Why then was he not protesting her command? But there was no more time for Angharad to think on it, for the last of the parade had gone by, and it was time to begin.

  
As the crowd disbursed, either to follow the parade to Hightown or to go on about their usual business, Angharad and Nathaniel walked down to the dock to where the ferryman sat in his boat. They haggled a price for Angharad's harbor crossing.

  
“Fod yn ofalus, annwyl” Nathaniel  told her. “Be cautious. Wyf yn addoli chi.”

  
“I adore you too,” Angharad said to him. She kissed him and touched his face with her hand before stepping on board the ferryboat.

  
Nathaniel turned and jogged to the dock from which the boat they’d commissioned would sail. Once there, he brought up the spyglass to locate Angharad as she made her way across the harbor. He knew what to wait for and would watch for her signal. Nathaniel told himself to be calm, but he felt as he had when he was a new squire who had never been in combat. Absently, he dragged his palms down his trousers to dry them. He found Angharad in the glass and watched her cross the harbor. Now, he must wait.

  
As the ferryboat pulled away from the dock, Angharad turned to face the Gallows across the harbor and forced herself not to look back at Nathaniel. She was trembling and frightened, and she did not want him to see the fear in her eyes. An impassioned litany was running through her brain. Oh Mother, why me? Can I not turn from this task? I am so frightened. I must do this! But why me?  The thoughts went ‘round and ‘round until Angharad, in a desperate bid for self-preservation began to recite the Litany of Adralla under her breath.  The Litany was a ward against blood magic; it had nothing to do with the current situation, but it calmed her to recite it.

Angharad felt demon-ridden at this point, even if the demons were of her own making; so, she chanted the litany. By the time they reached the Gallows dock, she was able to pay the boatman and walk coolly from the dock and up the stairs leading to the Gallows.

   
Angharad slipped on the mask to hide her face and pulled the hood up over her hair. Staff in hand, she walked up the stairs to the large central courtyard of the Gallows. She looked around. Instead of the usual dozen or so Templars standing in the courtyard, there were only three. The vendors were absent. No doubt, they were attending the services or had booths set up to sell their wares.  

  
With one last mental shake, Angharad took a deep breath and began. She raised her arms and cast a quick glyph of repulsion, laying it down before any of the Templars had noticed. Standing inside, she began speaking in as loud a voice as she could manage. “Woe unto you, Kirkwall!  For your days of peace are numbered!  You have sown the seeds of perdition by enslaving the children of Andraste, and you shall reap the harvest of destruction and death!”

  
 In a still louder voice that began to ring off the stone, Angharad cried, “But on this day of days, there shall be freedom for some, a sign of the freedom for all that is to follow!  Come out! Come out children of Andraste! For the day of her martyrdom shall be the day of your liberation!”

  
The three Templars ran toward Angharad but were thrown back by the glyph’s power. Angharad drew a glyph of paralysis that captured two of the three Templars and held them still.

  
Angharad began to sing to her staff and the lyrium runes began to glow. Powered by the lyrium, her voice began to carry throughout the Gallows. As her first glyph began to fade, the Templar who was free moved closer once more and prepared to cast his own anti-magic wards. But Angharad used her staff to emit a plane of blue light, disintegrating his field and creating a zone of protection about her as she cast the spells. As she sang, her voice rose higher and higher until all the glass in the gallows began to vibrate and then began to shatter. Fueled by the lyrium, her voice did not sound human; it was a high-pitched tone that hurt the ears. The glass broke at different times as the vibrations became more intense. Finally, the sound reached the depths of the Gallows, where the phylacteries were kept. Her voice went higher, throat hurting from the pitch and vibration, and all could feel the rumble beneath the stone as the phylacteries began to vibrate and break. The sound was huge and the power released by the spilling blood suffused Angharad, whether she willed it or not, increasing the zone of her influence. Vials, ampoules, decanters, windows, all shattered. Amulets made of glass shattered. With the phylacteries shattered, the mages were free. They could not be tracked by their own blood.

  
Angharad then dropped her tone deep into her chest and began another chant. Now the iron began to vibrate throughout the buildings until the entire gallows was shaking as though an earthquake had hit. Angharad’s staff grew brighter and brighter. She wanted to close her eyes against its brilliance but could not for she saw Templar archers beginning to appear. With a wave of her free hand, she sent out a pulse of energy strong enough to knock the archers to the ground while she continued to sing the spell of oxidation. When the archers regained their footing, they began firing once more. Angharad dodged the arrows as she sang. With a second burst of energy, she knocked the bows from the archer’s hands, but not before one Templar managed to fire an arrow into her shoulder.

  
The pain was incredible and it took all her strength not to stumble and lose the chant. Work, please work, I’m running out of energy. She thought to herself as she watched more and more Templars appear. Once more, she managed to push them back with a pulse of energy

  
For a long time, nothing seemed to happen. This is going badly, she thought, knowing that if she did not have the locks and gates destroyed by the time her staff was depleted, all would be lost. Still, she kept at it, kept singing the spell over and over. When it seemed as though she would fail, she saw the large iron gates begin to crumble into red dust. Energized by the sight she sang even louder. Now, those Templars who carried iron weapons and shields had them disintegrate in their hands. They stopped in their tracks, fearful of what else she might unleash with her voice. Angharad kept singing until the vibrations stopped and there was no more iron to rust.

   
Then she sang the song of the swan and mages began pouring out from the passageways and doors. From everywhere they came. The Templars moved in on Angharad once more, but this time they were assaulted by other mages hitting them with lightning bolts, fireballs and torment hexes.

  
 Angharad sang to her staff one more time and used two words, “Templars, Sleep!” She envisioned them held fast in a deep sleep. Suddenly, the Templars who’d been held at bay by her field of energy or who had started to attack fell, unconscious, to the ground.  

   
The mages came to Angharad. “Could one of you pull the arrow out of my shoulder,” She asked. One young man stepped forward and with swift movement, broke the shaft and pushed the arrow through. Before Angharad could weave her heal spell, she was hit by multiple waves of healing energy.

   
She smiled as the pain faded and then said to them all. “Those who wish Ferelden and freedom may board the boat, but I must warn that those of you who are demon-ridden or practice blood magic will be executed if discovered. The King will have enchanters at the dock to test you. It would be death for you to board that ship.”

   
“But what shall we do?” One of the blood mages asked her. 

  
“Run,” Angharad said simply.

  
“But where?” She asked Angharad.

  
“Anywhere but to your family. Anywhere but home. They will look for you there. To Ferelden if your magic be sanctified by Chantry, to the hills if not. But leave this place of death. The Grey Wardens do not despise blood magic. Seek them at the outpost between Kirkwall and Starkhaven. But you must run. Run now.”

  
Many of the mages simply ran out the main gate and away.

Some of the mages were leading children out of the back halls of the Gallows. Angharad went to them and helped them carry children to the ship. Nathaniel had timed the ship’s arrival perfectly. It had barely touched the dock before the mages arrived to board her. She saw the provisions on board, and pointed them out to the older mages. Within moments the ship was back in the harbor headed toward open sea with the mages on board. The blood mages and maleficars were running for the Wounded Coast and the mountains where there were many caves in which to hide. Some mages refused to leave and returned to their now unlocked cells preferring that which they knew to the unknown future Angharad offered them.

Still, there were nine left. Angharad turned to them. “Are you the ones?” She asked them.

  
“We are the ones that Rywik trusted with the training,” one of them replied.

   
“Then you know what you must do. When you arrive in Ferelden, travel to other circles and take the training with you. Tell them all what is happening here and teach them how to fight. Unless we give our people new tools with which to fight, they will be doomed in the coming battles.”

   
The mages nodded.

  
Angharad saw that the Templars were beginning to stir. She sang to her staff one last time to buy them a zone of safety. Angharad laid the staff on the ground and watched as the light began to fade from the runes. As the Templars stood up, the Angharad and the nine mages shapeshifted into swans and rose from the courtyard of the gallows high into the air. By the time the Templars had regained their feet, the swans were too far away to be reached by arrows or the ballistae. They were free.  
Nathaniel saw the swans rise through his spyglass and prayed that Angharad was one of them. By now, the second ship was being boarded with the four families, two prostitutes, and one or two more Fereldens who wished to go home.  Nathaniel took the captain aside and said, “See the swans out there in the harbor?”

  
The captain looked and saw the swans. “Ayah, I see them, messer.”

  
“They will board your ship, captain. Whatever you do, keep them alive,” Nathaniel told him. When the captain looked askance, Nathaniel said, “If you value your life, captain, you will keep those birds alive, and keep them from harm, or you will suffer their fate.” The captain nodded. He did not understand why the birds were important, but he understood that his life depended upon keeping them whole.

  
Nathaniel watched as the ship pulled away from the dock and hoisted a yellow pennant. The swans swam beside the ship, keeping its hull between them and the Gallows until they were beyond the chain at the harbor mouth. Then they rose into the air and landed on the deck. By then, however, they were too far away for Nathaniel to see if one of them was Angharad.

   
It was well that Nathaniel had warned the captain about the birds, for when they landed on the ship and began to transform, the other passengers were terrified. But the captain and his men stood between them long enough for Angharad to grab a shift and face the others who were on board.

  
“Please,” she begged them, “They are Fereldens, same as you, who simply want to return home, same as you. They seek asylum from terrible danger. King Alistair knows that they are coming and has wise men waiting to test these mages to be certain that they are not demon-ridden.” She turned and indicated the other nine mages, who by now had managed to clothe themselves as well. “These mages are pledged to do no magic for the duration of this journey unless the captain has need of their power to heal or save the ship. Only the captain can make that decision.”

  
“Please,” said one of the older male mages, “We only seek to go home.”

  
One of the men stepped forward. “Are you Andrastians, then?”

  
The mage nodded. “We are. We seek to serve not to rule. I am Roger of the West Hills.”

  
The man nodded. “And I am Stephen of Redcliffe.” He turned to the other families and said, “We are all trying to leave that foul pit they call Kirkwall. I cannot blame these mages for wanting to leave as well.” He turned back to the mages. “You’ll have no bother from me so long as you hold to your promises.”

  
The others nodded in agreement.

  
“It is settled then?” Angharad asked.

  
“It is, lady,” Stephen replied.

  
“Good,” Angharad said.  To the Captain, she said, “The King’s men will be waiting in Amaranthine. They will be expecting you.”

“Maker willing, we will arrive in Amaranthine in good time,” He told her. In a lower voice, he said, “You needn’t worry, mistress. I had a brother who were a mage. That Gallows killed him, it did. I will see that your people make it safe to Ferelden. Thomas would want that of me.”

  
“Thank you, Captain. Now, I must take my leave.”

  
Angharad walked to the stern of the ship; she dropped her clothing and shifted into a swan once more. She flew up into the sky and back toward the harbor. Angharad was weary and did not know how long she would be able to hold the transformation in place, so she flew low and near the water, just in case. As she approached the docks, she saw a number of Templars coming down the long steps toward the ferryboat landing. Angharad landed in the water and then waddled up the landing to the dock. She stood there, completely unnoticed. She quickly discovered that one of the Templars was Knight-Captain Cullen.

  
“What in the Maker’s name are you trying to say? Are you telling me that all the gates and locks are gone?” Cullen asked the junior knight. 

  
“I am telling you, Knight-Captain, that everything made of iron was rusted away in a moment. And everything glass is broken. There is a river of blood in the phylactery chamber because all of those were shattered,” The junior knight explained.  “If you don’t believe me, messer, go and see for yourself.”

  
Angharad knew what was coming next, so she waddled off as quickly as she could to find some crates to hide behind while she transformed. She glamoured simple clothes and changed the color of her hair to black. Then she slowly walked away from the Templars and toward the steps to Darktown. Angharad went into the wine cellar and up the stairs. When she reached the salon, she took a deep breath and sank down onto the floor in front of the fire. As the glamour waned, she thought she should go upstairs and put on some clothes, but it would be a moment before she had the strength.

  
Nathaniel was just being let in the front door as she came down the stairs.  Angharad ran into his arms and Nathaniel just held her close for the longest moment, whispering, “Thank the Maker. You are safe, anwylaf. “

  
“I’ve never been so frightened in my life,” Angharad told him as she laid her head against his chest.

  
Nathaniel laughed softly at that and tipped her chin up so that he could see her face. “That, my wife, is the true sign of courage. To be scared witless, and still do what you must do is genuine valor.”

  
“I sent the blood mages to the wardens, Nathaniel, and to the hills. I didn’t know what else to do with them. Not all of them are abominations.”

  
“Interesting solution, but not one that Stroud will appreciate. Still, if they are not abominations, the Wardens will consider recruiting some of them should they desire it. Come, Angharad. Let us sit down.” 

  
Nathaniel and Angharad sat on the settee in front of the fire. “I don’t like playing Maker, Nathaniel.”

  
“You must be one of the few, anwylaf,” Nathaniel told her. 

  
They both turned to the sound of a door opening and voices in the foyer. Miri, Carver, Anders, and Bodahn walked into the room. They were all dusty and grungy and obviously tired, but Miri was smiling. “It took us just as long to make it from the main gate as it did to make it from the mountains down to the main gate. Maker, I’m glad this day only happens once a year. Angharad, there are rumors in the square that Andraste appeared at the Gallows and freed all the mages. Do you know anything about that?”

  
Nathaniel stood up and offered Miri his place on the settee. She sat down next to Angharad and said, “You did it, then? Rusted away the locks and the gates?”  
Angharad nodded.

  
“Shattered all the phylacteries? How many mages did you free?”

  
“I am not certain, but I think I was able to free all the children. And perhaps fifty more. There were some who would not leave, and some who were maleficar and could not go on the ships. But I think there were others. Some of the gates were not iron. I could not open them.” Angharad said, unhappily.

  
“Still, fifty people free from that prison house! And the children! Good work, Angharad, very good work!” Hawke’s smile grew brighter. Our news is equally good. We were successful. It seemed that there was a prisoner, Corypheus, held by blood magic in that place. Somehow, he managed to enthrall the Carta and they were working to free him. We had to free him so that we could slay him. He is dead.” 

  
Nathaniel’s eyes met Carver’s. “Corypheus? Are you certain it was he and that he is dead?"

  
“No pulse, no breath, no heartbeat. Why ask me that?” Miri inquired.

  
 Turning to her, Nathaniel shook his head. “Some darkspawn aren’t that easily killed. They have…special gifts.  And Corypheus? If the tale is true, he was a magister from long ago.” 

  
“Laurius seemed to think so. He was the old Warden-Commander, a, I don’t know, call him a ghoul? He had gone for his Calling. But had not died. Nathaniel, he seemed much less disoriented, much more coherent after Corypheus—” Carver did not finish the sentence, for it would have led the conversation into forbidden territory for outsiders, and Nathaniel already knew of what he spoke.

  
“Laurius? He was still alive?” Nathaniel turned to Carver. “We must return to the outpost immediately. Can you travel tonight, or do you need sleep?”  
Carver shook his head. “Give me an hour, and I’ll be able to go.”

  
“Good. I’ll ready myself.” Nathaniel kissed Angharad’s cheek and ran up the stairs two at a time.

  
Angharad turned to Miri. “Who is this Corypheus?”

  
Anders came over and sat, half lotus, on the floor in front of the two women while Varric pulled up a chair. “That is the debate,” Anders said. “He appeared to be a darkspawn emissary. But he was intelligent; and he spoke, and when we awakened him, he called out to the old god, Dumat.  He believed himself a Magister and talked of looking for the light and the golden city.”

  
Miri looked at Anders and said, “You thought he was lying until you saw the amulet. Show Angharad the amulet.”

  
Anders handed a very ancient amulet to Angharad for her to see. When she took it in hand Miri’s salon faded and she was standing in the Chantry Square of Kirkwall. This was not the square that Angharad knew, however. There were no statues of Andraste and her followers there. Instead, there were dragons and gods, rounded globular gods with rounded eyes. The men and women going up and down the stairs to the doors wore robes of power and carried staffs that glowed with power. They spoke something that sounded like Tevine, though they didn’t call it that. It was old and only barely recognizable as the mother language of that spoken in Tevinter today. She saw a Magister leading five elven slaves up the stairs, elven slaves dressed in sacrificial colors. It was then that she noticed the stone channels stained reddish-brown that led down from the building and to a grate over a well.  As she watched, fresh blood flowed through the channels. 

  
Angharad took a deep breath. “Tevinter, pre-Blight, Imperial Magister, here in Kirkwall. Sacrificing slaves in what is now the Chantry but then a temple dedicated to the gods. Blood literally flowing in the streets to something far below the City.” Angharad blinked and looked at her companions. “What?” She asked.

  
“You are saying that the Chantry is built on the site of the old Temple?” Miri asked.

  
“Yes,” Angharad replied. “Yes. It has been a place of power for thousands of years.” To Anders, she said, “Do you not see, Anders? Do you not understand? The tale of the black city is real.”

  
“I believe that Corypheus believed it to be real. But I have yet to see evidence that whatever they saw was the Golden City of the Chant of Light.”

  
Angharad handed him the amulet. “This is yours. To remind you.”  She rose. “I must go and say farewell to my husband.”

  
Angharad entered the room to find Nathaniel packing his rucksack with his usual efficiency. She did not offer to do it for him, for he had it down to a science that she could not hope to best. Instead, she merely handed him a white swan’s feather. “Here, love, this was stuck in my hair,” She said. 

  
Nathaniel took it, smiled, and tucked it into the pocket of his doublet. “I wish I could remain at least this night, Angharad, but their news is very grave. Carver and I must return to the outpost in all haste. We may even now be too late.”

  
“I know, Nate. You know how dangerous Corypheus is, perhaps better than I. Some of his magic is vulnerable to Carver’s Templar skills, but not all. Byddwch yn ofalus,” Angharad said.

   
“I will.” Nathaniel replied. He finished his packing and turned to take Angharad into his arms. “You must promise me the same thing. I know the role you must play in this disaster that is about to begin, Angharad, but try not to lose yourself in the part. It did not end well a thousand years ago. At the end of the drama, Angharad, I want you alive.” He kissed her lips. “Come, Carver and I must leave.”

  
They walked downstairs to find Carver and Miri in deep conversation. Nathaniel and Angharad waited on the stairs to allow the Hawkes to finish in relative privacy before joining them. To Miri, Nathaniel said, “Thank you for your hospitality, Champion. You have no idea how much I appreciated this.”

  
“You are most welcome. Be well.” Miri turned to Carver and patted his cheek. Surprised, his eyes were wide, but he did not withdraw from her touch. “Maker turn his gaze on you, Brother.”

  
“And you,” Carver replied, “Miri, I don’t blame you. Don’t blame yourself.”

  
Miri Hawke, so confident, so authoritative, looked devastated, helpless. “I wasn’t in time. I couldn’t save her.” 

  
Carver put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you, Sister. If it was at all possible to save our mother, you would have. I promise you; I do not blame you.”

  
Angharad heard the woman’s breath hitch and turned away and toward Nathaniel so that Hawke would not be embarrassed. She kissed him and whispered, “I love you.”

He stroked her cheek as she said it, and then picked up his rucksack.

  
Miri and Angharad watched as their two wardens made their way out into the night.

 


	18. The Physician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad faces a crisis as she works to save an injured Templar without magic. Miri uses her position as Champion to intervene, and Cullen questions the relationship between Angharad and Miri as well as his Knight-Commander's actions.

Chapter Eighteen

The Physician

Miri watched them leave and said to Angharad, “Can there ever truly be peace between siblings?”

Angharad shook her head. “I cannot say. I am an only child.”

Varric chimed in. “I don’t know about peace, Hawke, but at least you and Carver seem to love one another. That’s something at least. Hey, I’ve got to go. The Hanged Man and my bed are calling. Good night, ladies,” he said, heading for the door.

“I should say goodnight as well,” Anders said to them both. He headed toward the kitchen and the cellar door.

Angharad, please feel free to stay with me rather than sleep in the Clinic. This house is very lonely since my mother died. I would appreciate the company,” Miri said as she pulled her own rucksack back onto her shoulder. “I need to go and bathe. I stink of dungeon and death.”

“Thank you, Miri, goodnight.” Angharad went up to the guest room and began to tidy up her things. As she folded her clothes and put them away, she ran her hand over the cloth. Suddenly, it was not mere cloth she held, it was the fabric of time and space being created second by second. The strands of the future, stretching far into infinity, were weaving together to form the present. She saw that every being’s life formed a thread of the weft, while reality itself formed the warp, making the fabric infinite in its length and breadth, as thread after thread was added to the pattern upon reality’s loom. Each being’s actions created the weft, building the present as the shuttle moved back and forth, back and forth. Before the shuttle moved there was the chance for change as different actions could be employed. But once the shuttle began its pass through the warp the threads of action were pulled together and became the pattern. The future was woven into present and then became the past, immutable and unchanging. Only the memories of the past could change, and did, but not the substance. The question was who was the weaver? Was it every being together, making simple decisions, weaving in the pattern in blindness and by chance? Or was Someone seated at the loom, creating the cloth, creating the pattern, the story. Angharad did not know. She only knew that time was woven in such a fashion and that, somehow, they all had a hand in the making of it. Now the threads she had seen so long ago were finally coming together and she could no longer see the pattern because she was a part of it.

Angharad shook her head. It is no longer the time for seeing. It is the time for doing what must be done. It is the time for courage. She told herself.

She made ready for bed, and was soon asleep.

The next morning, Hawke received a note from the First Enchanter at the Circle asking her to visit. Miri decided to take Anders with her, so Angharad went down to the Clinic and opened it for business. As she saw the patients, she heard the rumors that were circulating about the Gallows and what had occurred there. The Templars were denying that a large group of mages escaped, but there had been a call from the Gallows for vast numbers of blacksmiths, millwrights, carpenters, and locksmiths this morning, and every warehouse in Kirkwall was being depleted for materials.

“It sounds as though there will be work for many for a while,” Angharad said noncommittally as she tended to the sick. “That is a good thing, at least.”

One of the patients waiting his turn said, “It weren’t all mages that escaped. Some Fereldens left as well. A family lived near me who is gone with them. They said home was where they were bound.”

Angharad came over and began to examine the man. “Are you Ferelden, then?” She asked him as she examined his neck and throat.

“No mistress. I am Free Marcher that is certain. But I would leave if I could. This city is turned dark these days. I don’t like the feel of it no more.”

“What keeps you here?” Angharad asked him.

“Oh, money. I make little of it, but little is better than none. At least my family eats while I work.”

Angharad took a potion from her shelves and brought it to him. “A spoonful of this twice a day until it is all gone. No fair stopping when you feel better and selling the remainder of the potion. You need all of it to be truly well.”

The man had the grace to look shamefaced. He’d come to her before with his illness, and Angharad had rightly guessed why he was still suffering from it. “Aye, all of it then.”

“Your word on it?” Angharad asked him, smiling.

“You have my word, messer.” “Good. Then put a copper in the poor box for those who have nothing,” she told him.

The man left, and she moved on to the next patient, and the next. It was near time to close for the day when Ser Edrik and his men arrived at her door. Angharad was about to make a snide remark about helping themselves since they knew her clinic better than she did, but she stopped herself when she saw that one of the men was injured and bleeding. Before Ser Edrik could say anything, she said, “Remove his armor so I can see the wound.”

Then men helped the knight out of his armor. Angharad could see no visible knife or sword cut, yet the man was coughing up blood and having difficulty breathing. “What happened?” She asked Ser Edrik. “How did this man get injured?”

“Blood magic,” Ser Edrik replied. “We’ve been trying to round up blood mages, and this is the result of one of the spells. He was thrown back and smashed into a wall.”

Angharad lay her ear against his chest to listen to him breathe. She could only hear breath sounds from his right side. On the left the only sound was the grating of broken ribs, but she heard no air passing through the lung. To the other knights she said, “Hold him upright on the table, but keep him still. There are broken ribs involved and they could puncture an artery.” To Ser Edrik, but in a voice loud enough to be heard by them all she told him. “Your lad has a collapsed lung because blood and fluid are filling the space between his lung and his chest wall. I know of only one way to help him, but you must trust me to use a knife, and to pierce his chest wall to relieve the pressure on the lung.”

To the man, she said, “It will hurt a great deal, and you are too compromised in your breathing for me to give you something for the pain.” She faced Ser Edrik once more. “Well, Ser, what shall it be? Do you want me to do the surgery? Or would you prefer to take him to the healers in the Gallows?”

A look passed over Ser Edrik’s face that told her much. There were probably no healers left in the Gallows that he trusted.

“You have very little time,” She told him.

“Do the surgery. But know that—”

“Yes, yes, I know. You will kill me if your man dies. I understand the risk of treating your knight,” she finished for him. “Just wait to slay me until I have finished healing him, will you?”

Angharad took a large basin and put it on the floor next to the examining table on which the knight lay. She went to her instrument shelf and took down a knife with a very slender but sharp blade and put it into the fire of the brazier until it glowed. Angharad let it cool, using the handle’s heat to tell her when it was safe to use the blade.

To the two men who were supporting him she said, “Lay him down gently, and hold his shoulders tight.”

To Ser Edrik, she said, “Hold his legs still, this is going to hurt.” Once they had the man in position, Angharad felt along his rib cage, seeking the space in between any two of his ribs that weren’t totally compromised. For a moment, she thought it would be impossible as he was badly smashed, but finally she found a space and with steady pressure, she slipped the blade between the ribs. The man screamed and tried to pull away, but his comrades held him fast. Angharad pushed the blade in a little deeper, sorry to go so slowly but unwilling to overshoot the mark and pierce something vital. Suddenly there was a gush of blood spilling out of the wound, much more blood than would have been caused by the knife itself. As the blood drained into the basin, she saw the man’s chest begin to rise and fall. Angharad laid her ear on his left side and could hear the sound of air moving in and out once more.

“Thank the Maker,” she whispered, as she went to her shelf and found the medications she wanted to use.

The first thing she did was examine the knight from head to toe. His collapsed lung was the most obvious injury, but with blood magic, there could be others, just as serious, that were not so obvious. She continued to search but found nothing. Satisfied at last that there was nothing else, she washed around the incision she’d made, and took a piece of reed, the hollow stem of plants that often surrounded a pond or lake. She dipped the reed in antiseptic and inserted into the hole to keep it open.

“What is that for?” Ser Edrik asked her suspiciously. “This man’s lung is bruised and cut inside. So long as it is possible for the lung to continue to bleed or to swell and push fluid into that space; I must keep the wound open and draining. If I close the wound, the space could fill with fluid once more and he would drown in his own blood,” Angharad explained. “I soaked it in disinfectant to try and keep the wound clean, but there is the possibility of infection. So, I will administer potions that keep the infections away and hope that they work for him. After a night here, he can be moved to the Gallows.”

“We cannot leave him here,” Ser Edrik said. Clearly, leaving him in her care would amount to consigning him to the Void.

“You must leave him here. If you move him, he will die.” When she saw the look of stubborn resistance on Ser Edrik’s face, she added, angrily, “Go and fetch one of your own healers and bring them here! They will tell you that what I say is true. Without magic, he cannot be moved before morning! I would never compromise the welfare of my patient with lies about his care.”

Ser Edrik turned to one of his men. “You! Go to the Gallows, and see who can come to verify this woman’s claims. And bring back some food as well.”

Angharad bit back her anger and focused solely on the injured man. The wound was still draining a mixture of blood and fluid, but it was not enough to indicate hemorrhage. Angharad fetched the man some water and bade him drink. She gave him a potion as well.

“What is your name, knight?” She asked him in between sips.

“David,” He managed to say.

“David, you were very lucky. With the Maker’s help, we will make you whole again, but you must not bear arms or armor for at least six weeks. Your ribs are broken in many places and will need time to heal. Once the draining stops, I will bind your arm to your chest to act as a splint for your ribs.”

“Thank you, mistress,” David replied.

Angharad brushed his hair away from his face. “Try to rest. When the food comes, I will wake you,”

She began cleaning up from the surgery earlier, placing a fresh basin on the floor to catch further drainage from David's wound. She disposed of the blood and fluids in the first basin by slowly burning them drop by drop in the fire. In this City, pouring blood onto the ground was like feeding a ravenous wolf. It only made the evil worse.

Once the blood was destroyed, she burned the blood-soaked bandages as well, though it made a terrible stink.

“Why did you do that?” Ser Edrik asked her. “What? Why did I do what?” Angharad responded.

“You touched him. You caressed his forehead,” Ser Edrik said to her.

Of all the things that she could think of that this Knight would have questioned, that was the very last thing. But she did her best to answer reasonably.

“When we are sick or injured, it is healing to feel the positive touch of another person. Much like when we were children and our mothers rubbed our heads or gave us butterfly kisses. Being a physician is not just about treating the body. It is also about healing the spirit. My touch conveys my interest in his wellbeing far more than my words can,” Angharad explained.

When she saw the complete puzzlement on Ser Edrik’s face, Angharad guessed that this man had never known the touch of his mother’s hand. It explained a great deal. Angharad turned away so that he would not see the look of pity in her eyes. Ser Edrik would hate her pity even more than he hated her.

She finished cleaning up the clinic. Instead of closing the doors, she left them open. One of the urchins who inhabited the dark undercity drifted in, and Angharad paid him a coin to take a note to Hawke in Hightown. She did not want Anders wandering in and starting trouble. Once she was done, she pulled a simple chair over to where David was lying and sat down. She was tired from too little sleep the night before as well as the long day. From time to time, she rose from the chair to check David’s breathing and pulse. She heard the sound of someone approaching and saw Hawke and Fenris standing in the doorway.

“Ah, Mistress Howe, there you are. I was concerned when I received your note that you would not be available to take supper with me. But now I see the cause. You have a patient,” Miri said to her.

Hawke walked over to where David lay and took in the scene in a glance. “You do fine work, Mistress Howe, but if you will, I can heal his broken ribs with magic. I am a spirit healer and am very experienced with battle wounds.”

Ser Edrik moved nearer. “You are an apostate mage! And you would use magic in front of my eyes?”

“I have used magic in front of Knight-Commander Meredith’s eyes, Ser, and she did not object. But then, I was killing the Qunari and saving Kirkwall. I think that day she did not care how I saved the City only that I did save the City. I can see how healing one of your men would be different,” Miri replied with only a hint of derision in her voice. “Maker forbid that I use my skills to keep one of your own from weeks of pain and possible infection.”

Ser Edrik started to speak once more when another voice said, “I would have you heal my man, Champion.”

All of them turned to see Knight-Captain Cullen in the doorway. He was accompanied by the knight Ser Edrik had sent to fetch a healer but by no one else.

“Ser Edrik seems to have forgotten that our healers are—indisposed at the moment. As you have defended this City, I believe I may trust you to heal my knight,” Cullen said to her. Miri did not wait for an argument from Ser Edrik. She immediately bathed David in waves of healing magic, knitting bone and vessel back together. Angharad quickly pulled the reed from his wound before it could close around it. Within a moment, the knight was better though still sore.

“I would recommend that you not bear arms for at least three days, sirrah, but only because your new bone will be very tender.” Miri patted the young man’s cheek. “After that, it’s back to mage hunting for you, lad.”

David sat up took a deep breath and then got up from the table. “Thank you. Mistress Hawke.” He said to the Champion.

To Angharad he said, “Thank you for saving my life, Mistress Howe. I shall not forget.”

“I wish I could have done more,” Angharad told him.

Cullen turned to his men. “Ser Edrik, you and the men go back to the Gallows. I shall see you there shortly,” 

“Yes, Knight-Captain.” Ser Edrik waited only long enough for David to dress before leaving. Once they were out of earshot, Knight-Captain Cullen turned back to Angharad and Hawke. “May I ask how you two know one another?”

“My husband is Carver Hawke’s Squad Captain in the Wardens. It is through their association that we came to be acquainted,” Angharad replied.

Cullen pondered this a moment and looked directly at Miri. “Champion, where were you yesterday during the Commemorative play?”

Miri replied. “I was coming back from the Vimmark Mountains. My brother and I had gone there to seek and destroy a group of Carta members who attacked us both. I did not make it to the Kirkwall gates until near sundown, but then you should be able to confirm that with the City Guard who stood watch at the gate. Why do you ask, Knight-Captain?”

Cullen did not reply to this. Instead, he asked Angharad the same question.

“Nathaniel and I watched the parade from the docks and then, well, we just did what newly married people do, Knight-Captain,” To her amusement, he blushed but she pretended not to notice. “We did not attend the Commemorative play as we are not fond of crowds, and the crush at dockside was more than enough for us.” “We had an incident at the Gallows yesterday. There are a number of mages who escaped. We are tracking down the maleficars. As you can see, they are using blood magic to fight back. I thank you for your service to us today and for saving the life of one of my knights, but I also must warn you to stay far away from this group who seem intent on fomenting rebellion. We mean to exterminate them.” Cullen looked at them both, his face closed and unrevealing, very much in Templar mode at the moment.

“So, you would cut down the sheep with the wolves then, Knight-Captain? You would slay the doves with the crows? Are mages such a threat that you would exterminate them all?” Angharad asked him. She shook her head. “How many times must mages save the world before you will forgive them for being more than just human or elf? It is not fair, messer.”

“You need not defend us, Angharad,” Miri said, intervening before Angharad gave herself away. “We are used to persecution.” Miri turned to face Cullen and shook her head. “You and I have worked together on common goals Knight-Captain, and I know you to be a good man. How can you not see that Your Knight-Commander is going quite insane? She has become so paranoid, that she has executed half your Order in her search to root out perceived treachery. Surely you can see that she has lost her mind. When are you going to clean your own house before you sweep through mine? When are you going to defend the mages you swore to defend when you took your oath?”

To that, Cullen had no answer. He seemed very troubled. But he chose to remain silent. He bowed to them both. “Thank you for caring for my knight, messers. I will take my leave of you now.”

“Maker turn his gaze on you, Knight-Captain,” Angharad said.

“And you, Mistress Howe, Mistress Hawke.” The two women watched him go.

“That is a very troubled man,” Miri said, more to herself than to Angharad. Then she turned and said, “Are you all right?”

“Spending time with Ser Edrik is not my idea of life as I would choose to live it, but the young knight was in dire straits. I felt so guilty. I could have healed him in an instant. Instead, I had to inflict even more pain on him.” Angharad began cleaning up the space that the young templar had so recently occupied.

“Never feel guilty about saving your own life, Angharad!” Miri replied harshly. “You need to toughen that thin skin of yours if you are to survive, my girl. You kept him alive, despite the fact that he would gladly take yours if he knew what you were. What you did for him was more than enough!”

Fenris spoke up at this point. “We’d better lock the doors before there are more unwanted visitors.”

Together, they secured the Clinic doors and went up through the Cellar to the house. To her surprise, she found that Miri Hawke also ate with the servants in her kitchen. Angharad and Fenris joined her there as Orana served up a delicious meat pasty with greens and an apple custard tart for dessert. It was all very good, and Angharad found herself to be starving of late. The only addition to the table that evening was a good wine. But it was too dry for Angharad’s taste, and she chose cider instead. “My apologies. My tastes are quite plebian. I come from very simple people.”

“None needed. My father had been a Circle mage here in Kirkwall who managed to escape. He and my mother lived in Ferelden as peasants. We moved from town to town for many years until Father had had enough of the traveling life and settled us on the outskirts of Lothering.” “We were travelers as well. How odd that our lives should be so similar.”

“Not so odd, “Fenris replied shortly. “I can think of no better way to hide mage children than to keep them on the move. Staying on the move was how I managed to elude my former master.”

“We are all travelers, then,” Angharad said. Fenris raised his glass. “To the road. Thank the Maker we have rested from it for a time.” “To the road,” Angharad and Miri said, lifting their own glasses high.


	19. The Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad begins the final phase of her task. With the mages liberated, it was time to do what she could to save Kirkwall from the disaster she saw in her visions so long ago. It was also time to fulfill her part of her bargain with Flemeth. A life for a life.

Chapter Nineteen

  
The Prophet

  
It was the next day.

   
In the Chantry, the brothers and sisters gathered for the midday service. Candles were lit. The book was turned to the day’s reading. Everything was ready for the noon-time service to begin. The Mother who was to read the midday’s lesson was walking to the podium when the large double doors that led to the courtyard swung open. 

  
A woman stood there in the opening, a woman dressed in a robe of power that was from the time of the rebellion. Her hair was the color of flames, and it stood away from her head as flames from a roaring fire. Her amber eyes glowed as though a lamp was lit behind them. When she began to speak, her voice shook the building.

  
“Woe unto you Kirkwall, City of Power! Woe unto you, City of Chains! For you have seeded the world with slavery and torment. You have filled the streets with the blood of the helpless! You have harrowed the lives of the innocent, you have stolen the freedom of many, and now you will harvest your crop!  For their suffering is almost ended and their liberation is at hand! Andraste came into the world to free all beings from their tormenters, but you have tainted her legacy! She is coming with sword and fire to set her children free!" The woman’s voice grew ever more powerful. The stone in the building began to hum in vibration with her voice.

  
The brothers and sisters watched in horror as the woman turned and walked out onto the parapet overlooking the square. The Templars who guarded the Chantry advanced, but the woman, without looking at them, began to chant and suddenly they were glued in place, unable to move, unable to advance.

   
She stood high upon the parapet overlooking the square when she began to speak, and her voice carried out to the farthest reaches of the space. “Run, citizens of Kirkwall, run. Flee the City of Chains that you may live, for the Lady of the Skies is coming to reap the harvest and your lives will be forfeit! The Maker shall not save you. Andraste shall not save you. The judgment is upon you!” The people who were traversing the square stopped in place at the sound of her voice, staring in awe at the vision before them.

  
“Woe unto you, City of Chains! The time of retribution is at hand! The time of liberation is at hand! Flee to the mountains, and beg mercy from the Mountain Father. Seek shelter in his caves that you may live! For Hakkon Wintersbreath is coming with war and death and in his wake, The Lady of the Skies shall come to take the dead home!” Then the woman turned to face the faithful of the Chantry once more and her eyes were flames. “Your Bride shall not protect you. Your Maker shall not hear your cries. Woe unto you.”  They watched as her body first became a flame and then a black swan that rose in the sky and flew toward the mountains. The Templars were suddenly released. They ran out onto the parapet, but there was nothing there except for a single black feather.

  
“Maker’s breath!” One of them exclaimed. “Who was that?”

  
“What was that is the better question. We’d better send someone to the Knight-Commander  and tell him what happened here,” the second Templar said.

  
At sundown, the Alienage residents were returning home, weary from their labors at the poorest and meanest of occupations. Exhausted, the elves came into the small enclave that housed so many of their people. In its center stood the Vhenadahl, the tree of the People, painted with symbols so old that few, if any, knew their meaning. In front of the tree stood an elven woman with brilliant sky-blue eyes and long straight hair the color of the rich brown earth. Her gown held the colors of the sea in its folds, ever-changing, its folds weaving and flowing around her like the ocean. In her right hand she held a staff of ancient elven design, and in her left hand was the moon, glowing, and rotating slowly, slightly above her palm.

   
“Oh, my people, “she began, “Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, is stalking Kirkwall. Those who will listen, heed me, for there will be no place of safety in the streets. There will be no comfort in your homes. My children! You were slaves. You were serfs. You were beaten and shamed. And still, you survived. Now, rejoice! The time of liberation is at hand! But the price of freedom is blood.”

   
She held out her left hand and the moon rose from her palm and slowly changed from full to last quarter. “My name is Protection, and I bring you a warning. When you next see the sign of the moon in her latter quarter, the time has come to leave. Those who do not will die, for the Wolf will run the streets, and the shemlen will run mad with Vengeance.”

  
The elves gathered around her. “Mythal, our mother,” They whispered as the elven woman moved slowly from the Vhenadahl to the stairs leading away from the Alienage.

   
“Remember the sign of the moon.” The woman said and transformed before their eyes into a swan as white as the moon she’d held in her hand. With a rush, the beautiful bird caught the wind and was gone, flying up and away into the twilight.

  
Over the next three days, as the moon moved to full, a woman appeared in various areas of Kirkwall who gave warning of a coming disaster and then flew away as a bird. At times, she appeared as The Woman of Fire, with flaming hair and eyes. At other times she appeared as The Elven Woman of Sea and Moon, the elven mother of the people whom the elves identified as Mythal. Still other times she, appeared as a woman-shaped form, hooded and cloaked, who spoke from the depths of the hood but whose face could not be seen. None knew her except the Avvar who knew her as the Lady of the Skies, the walker between worlds. 

  
The Templars had extra knights out on the street trying to capture this person, but they were either always too late or were easily ensnared in her magic and held at bay until her departure. All of Kirkwall was discussing these appearances. Many thought it was a hoax. Others thought it the work of demons. But there were those who took seriously the warnings. These folk were suddenly finding reason to visit relatives who lived elsewhere or to take a long holiday away from the City.

   
On the third and final day of her appearance, the prophet came as the Woman of Fire for the last time. She appeared on the parapet of the Viscount’s Palace in the ancient Robe of Power carrying Staff of Fire, her hair burning without being consumed. The pupils of her eyes held flames, and everyone within hearing gathered as she appeared. 

  
“Woe to you, City of Chains! Your fate has been written!  Andraste came as a liberator to set all beings free from oppression!  Andraste came as a savior to release the captives from bondage. But you have perverted her message. Andraste said unto your fathers, “Magic was made to help Man, not to rule him.” But you twisted her words and used them to enslave the magic users. Kirkwall of the Chains, you have beaten Andraste’s people. Kirkwall of the Blood users, you have raped her people. Kirkwall of the Demons, you have mutilated Andraste’s people in her name! Your name is now forfeit! Your lives are now forfeit! Her children will be free!

   
Woe unto you, Meredith, for the time of your undoing is at hand! You who enslaved Andraste’s people shall be enslaved and eaten by the demons you set free. Your soldiers of the Sword of Mercy, sworn to protect and serve shall go forth as ravening wolves to feed upon the land and the people! They shall murder the innocent and guilty alike in their thirst for Vengeance.

  
Woe unto you Elthina, mother of the people who allowed the torture and suffering of Andraste’s children in her name. You will ride the storm that is gathering and be consumed by it! The time of Retribution is at hand! Your house shall be laid waste and your flock scattered!”

  
“Are you Andraste?”  Someone called from the crowd.

  
“I am the Harbinger! I am the Saga, the Foreshadower! I am the Omen given you by a Merciful Maker here to bring you warning! Those who listen will act and be saved. Those who do not will be caught in the maelstrom and drowned. Leave this place of death! Leave this place of destruction! Leave!”

  
The woman transformed. She appeared to be consumed by fire as she vanished completely. This time there was no swan that flew away. The Guards, the Templars, and the people who had all been frozen in place by her words, now moved to the place she had stood. All that was left was a glyph etched into the stone, nothing more.  
As the crowd who’d huddled around the glyph turned their backs to walk away, no one noticed that an old woman in a ragged cloak was suddenly among them, walking away with the rest of them.

   
Angharad, shaky with fatigue from holding a glamour of such complication in place for so long, slowly made her way to Hawke’s house just down the stairs. She slipped inside the door of the mansion and once safe let the glamour fall away until she was herself again, and stark naked. This time she had planned ahead and had a tunic waiting for her there.

  
She went to the kitchen to eat, but was not surprised to find that Hawke was out for the day. The Champion was often among the people of Kirkwall and seldom at home. Angharad wondered if she had been among the crowd that had gathered in the square.

  
Angharad ate and went upstairs to put on the simple clothing she usually wore to run the Clinic. When she went back to open the Clinic once more, she found it already opened and Anders inside. “Are you courting disaster, Anders?” She asked him. “The Templars still come here you know.”

  
He walked around the clinic, examining the shelving she’d installed, inspecting the work tables and beds. “You’ve done well with this, Angharad. I could not have asked for a more competent successor. You needn’t concern yourself with the Templars. They are busy seeking the Prophet who keeps appearing and disappearing to proclaim words of doom and destruction on every street corner. By the time they realize she is gone for good, it will be over.” He examined one of her potions, opened it, smelled it, and recapped the bottle again. “It is set. They could kill this body now and all would still happen. It is completed. So, tell me, Mistress Howe, why have you spent the last week playing the goddess?”

  
“Etienne Caron told me long ago that what we cannot prevent, we must survive; and what we cannot survive, we must record so that future generations will know what happened. I have merely done my best to help some survive. And I have done my best to record, for the future, what truly happened,” Angharad told him.

  
“What truly happened?” Anders laughed. “Are you joking? What truly happened is that a very talented witch managed to perform a complicated morality play complete with magic tricks.”

  
Angharad shook her head. “Anders, think!  Was Andraste the Bride of the Maker?  Or was she a talented mage who used her gifts to win freedom for her people?  Was she both? Don’t you see? It does not matter whether it was me who walked the streets of Kirkwall or truly the goddess in one of her many forms. The fact is that some woman walked among them and warned them of the coming war. History and legend will determine who it was.”

  
“Well you should have let them all burn,” Anders replied.

  
“Go away, Vengeance. Let me say farewell to my friend.”

  
The distant blue glow in his eyes faded, and Anders looked at Angharad again. “Why did you tell Vengeance that you wished to say farewell?”

   
Angharad took a deep breath. “Because when we see one another next, there will be no time for talk. And after that, one of us will be dead. Thank you, my teacher, for the knowledge you shared with me. I wish you had not hated them so much. You would be a happier man today.”

  
“I only want a world in which we can be ourselves, Angharad. Is that so much to ask?” Anders inquired sadly.

  
“No. But you will never see that world my friend. May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent in the beyond.  May the Lady who walks between the worlds see you safely home.”

  
“I see,” Anders said.

  
“No. You do not see. And that is your undoing,” Angharad replied.

  
Anders looked around the clinic once more and said. “I did a good thing here.”

  
Angharad managed to smile. “Yes, you did. You created a very good thing here. It shall be remembered. I swear to you. The people whom you helped will remember you fondly for this place.”

  
“Farewell, Angharad,” Anders told her as he walked out the doors.

  
Angharad finished out the day in the Clinic and then went up the ladder to Hawke’s Cellar. Hawke was already gone. She left word with Bodahn that Orsino, the First Enchanter needed her help once more and that she would probably be gone all night. Angharad ate supper, bathed and then went to bed.

  
In the early hours before dawn, Angharad was awakened by Miri’s hand on her shoulder.  “Angharad. Angharad, can you help me?”  Miri asked.

  
Angharad sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What is it?”

  
“They’ve taken Carver! A group of mages and Templars have taken Carver to the Wounded Coast and are holding him hostage there. Can you help me find my brother before they harm him?” Hawke asked.

  
“Of course!” Angharad rose from her bed and put on a robe of power that helped renew her mana at a faster rate. Then she armed herself with both knives and staff. She removed her wedding ring and placed it in her trinket box on the chance that she would have to shift. As a safeguard, she put vials of lyrium and health potions into her pockets. “I am ready. Let us go.”

  
Fenris, Anders, and Varric were waiting outside. Once they were together, they began a double time out of the city and toward the Wounded Coast. No one spoke as they jogged their way up the trails toward the cliffs overlooking the rocky coastline. Miri obviously had information as to where Carver was being held, for there was no hesitation as to which trail to take among the hills. The sun had risen and was in its first quarter when Miri turned off the main path and headed down toward an old ruin.

  
About halfway down the path, they ran into a man that Miri seemed to know. _“Samson. Are you a part of this conspiracy against Meredith?”_

  
_“Aye. I was hoping that with Meredith sent to Val Royeaux, I might be reinstated in the Templars, but I can’t stomach this. They are using blood magic to call up the dead.”_ Samson told her.

  
“Always it is the same,” Fenris snarled. “Always the mages find some excuse to use blood magic.”

  
“I am here to stop them,” Miri told Samson. “I hope to talk them down, but you’d better stay away if you don’t want to share their fate.”

  
“I want nothing more to do with them,” Samson told her. He headed up the trail toward the main path. Hawke and Angharad continued down the slope.

  
As they came around the rocks, they saw the conspirators. Ser Thrask, a Templar Knight whose daughter had been a secret apostate mage, was with the group as were a number of mages Angharad recognized from the Gallows. Some of them were blood mages who had escaped to the hills. Others had deliberately remained behind, no doubt because they had this work to do.

  
On the ground behind them, Carver lay unconscious. It was impossible to tell at this distance if he was alive or dead.

  
_“I suppose it was too much to ask that you would not come here, Hawke.”_ Ser Thrask said. _“I promise you we meant no harm to your brother.”_

  
_“Just turn him loose, and I’ll forget this. I do not wish to harm any of you, but I will have my brother free.”_

  
One of the mages stepped forward, a woman with a tattoo of the Starkhaven Circle on her face.  “No!  We will kill Hawke’s brother! Alain, kill him!” 

  
_“I was wondering when my decision to let you go would bite me in the_ ass. _”_ Hawke told her. To Alain, she said, _“Leave my brother alone.”_

  
Anders spoke up. _“Grace?_ We freed _you from the Templars? Why have you turned on us?”_

  
_“You killed the best man I ever knew and the only man I ever loved.”_ Grace hissed.   _“And now I will kill you and your_ brother, _”_ Grace told Miri.  
Alain stepped away from Carver and toward Grace. _“No, Grace. This isn’t what we planned.”_ He said.

  
Grace backhanded him with a heavy blow. _“Quiet, boy! If you don’t have the stomach to kill him, I will do so myself.”_

  
  _“Restrain yourself,_ Grace. _”_ Thrask said to her, making the mistake of turning his back to her.

  
_“No!”_ She said, piercing her side with her staff, drawing the blood forth to use. _“I learned everything that Decimus had to teach, and I will use it to kill you all!”_ She blasted Thrask to the ground with the force of the blood magic, killing him instantly. Then she turned to attack Hawke.

  
Angharad cast a gravity spell, quickly followed by a force spell that pulled matter toward the Abyss.  Grace was knocked off her feet and drawn into the center of the vortex, its increased gravity weighing her down as though she carried a heavy weight on her back. Fenris was already halfway across the ruin, attacking another blood mage. Angharad yelled to Hawke, “Help Fenris. I’ll keep her from casting.”

   
Grace was back on her feet, but before she could spill more blood, Angharad shot a burst of raw energy outward that knocked the blood mage back down again, while Anders threw a bolt of lightning that jumped from enemy to enemy. Angharad felt everyone’s health diminishing so she drew forth waves of healing energy, cast them out among her group, and felt another heal from Miri coming back to her. To keep Grace off balance, Angharad drew a glyph on the ground that knocked Grace three feet away. The woman collided with a rock and fell to the ground, shaking controllably. Suddenly, her flesh became twisted and malformed as she was overwhelmed by the demon she had called to aid her.

   
“Down,” Anders yelled.  

  
Angharad crouched as a rock went flying over her head and into Grace’s middle. Wth another chant and cast, Anders fused the transformed with the elements of stone, turning her briefly into a statute. He and Angharad used the energy from their staves to inflict heavy damage while she was immobilized. She finally dropped, dead, to the ground.

  
Angharad was slammed from the back by a Templar Hunter and her health dropped to almost nothing. She felt a heal spell renew her strength, and she quickly drew a glyph of repulsion around herself to keep from being struck from behind again. Spinning in a circle, she sought the Hunter who had almost killed her but he was stealthed. Her eye caught the motions of a blood mage getting ready to cast. Angharad threw a burst of raw energy at him but he’d already gotten off his spell, knocking Miri halfway across the ruin. Angharad healed everyone quickly and then cast gravity once more, slowing the combatants down whenever they were in the circle of the spell’s influence.

   
The Templar Hunter reappeared at last and Angharad drew even more energy from her body and opened well of gravity under the Hunter’s feet, slowing him almost to a stop.  By this time, all three mages could concentrate on him and they quickly took him apart with energy from their staves.

  
Angharad looked around but the only people left standing were Miri and her group. Alain and one or two other mages who had laid down their staves were sitting on the ground in surrender. Alain went over to Miri. “I’m sorry, but Grace used blood magic to bind your brother; I will have to use blood magic to free him.” He said, cutting his arm and using the blood to undo Grace’s spell.

  
Carver blinked, sat up, groaned and then got up. “Andraste’s ass,” was his first phrase.  “Is this kill Carver month, or am I just paranoid.”

  
The look of relief on Miri’s face was palpable. “Carver, you are all right!

”  
He looked down at his sister. “Oh, it’s you again. I am in your debt once more sister, and once more in your shadow.”

  
Miri seemed at a loss for words, but before she could think of something to say, Samson came up to them with Knight-Captain Cullen and about twenty other Templars.

  
“Champion, Samson has told me of the conspiracy brewing here. I hope you were not involved in this.” Knight-Captain Cullen said.

  
Alain, the young mage who’d refused to kill Carver spoke up. “The Champion is a good lady sir, who tried to stop these people from doing harm.”

  
“I see,” Cullen said. “Take the rest of these mages into custody and question them.”

   
Angharad had already dropped her staff to the ground. One of the Templars grabbed her hands and shackled them behind her back.

   
Miri started to say something but Angharad shook her head slightly. She looked down to the ground where her staff lay.

  
“Have you any recommendations, Champion?” Knight-Captain Cullen said. 

  
“Only Mercy, Captain, and that Samson be restored to your Order.  He proved himself a friend to the Templars.” Miri said. She looked at Angharad, who was now staring off into space. Carver started to step forward to say something to the Knight Captain, but Miri caught his hand and squeezed. Carver looked at Angharad who shook her head once more.

  
“I will take your recommendations into consideration.” Knight-Captain Cullen replied. “Come, let us go.”

  
The Templar pulled on Angharad’s shackles and they started the long walk toward Kirkwall. Angharad walked silently by her captor as they made their way toward the Gallows. Knight-Captain Cullen came upon her other side.  “Mistress Howe. You said you were not a mage.”

  
“I said no such thing, Knight-Captain. I did not volunteer the information, that is true, but I did not lie,” Angharad replied.

   
“Were you there with the conspirators tonight? Do you practice blood magic?” He asked.

  
Angharad lifted her shackled wrists. “Do you see fresh marks? More important, do you smell demon stench? I have never trucked with demons and never shall. I was harrowed in Ferelden by the Warden himself, and I am the King’s healer and envoy, and an associate of the Grey Wardens.”

  
“What were you doing here, then?” Cullen asked. 

  
“Rescuing a Grey Warden in trouble, Knight-Captain. The Wardens leave no one behind,” Angharad replied.

  
“You were with Hawke and her companions?” Knight-Captain Cullen asked. “Why did you not say so?”

   
“Because there are those in your Order who would have insisted on arresting the Champion when all she was trying to do was save her brother’s life,” Angharad replied.

 “This way, you were able to let the Champion go her way.”

  
“I do not trust you, mistress. There is much more going on here than you reveal. Are you here to spy for the Ferelden King? Or are you here to further the revolt that began a few days ago with the escape of many of our mages? Will you not tell me? Please do not make me subject you to questioning.”

  
“To subject me to torture is what you mean. I am afraid that both you and I are about to journey down a path we would never willingly travel. Your journey may be more difficult than mine, and mine will be difficult indeed.”

  
Cullen started to say something more, but Angharad shook her head.  “No more questions. Let us wait for the torture.”

  
They arrived at the Gallows late in the day. Angharad was tired and hungry but there was no help for it. As she arrived, the workmen who were making the repairs to the locks and gates were packing up their tools so that they could take the ferryboat over to the City. Angharad noted that the new gates at the front of the Gallows were made of steel rods, bound in place by copper wire. The front gates were already completed. Clearly, they were working their way backward and the individual cells would be the last to be repaired.

  
The cell into which Angharad was placed had no lock so they chained her shackles to the wall. Thankfully, the chain was long enough to allow Angharad to sink to the floor. Leaning her head up against the wall, she willed herself to sleep.

   
When she was shaken awake, Angharad had no idea as to how long she had slept. It was dark now, and the moon was rising. She saw by its shape that she had four days left. The Templar, who unchained her from the wall, dragged her out the door without allowing her to get to her feet until they were halfway down the passageway. Then he stopped and kicked her in the hip. “Get up, you lousy bitch,” He said. “The Knight-Commander wishes to see you.”

  
The pain from his kick was intense, but Angharad managed to struggle to her feet as he tugged her along. They went up a set of stairs to yet another gate that had been repaired, and then another set of steps.  Once they were in the hall, he knocked on one of the doors. “Knight-Commander, I have the mage here,” The Templar said.

  
“Take her down to the courtyard, Knight.”

   
The Templar dragged her down the remainder of the hall to an enclosed courtyard.  Angharad stood there and waited with her escort. After some moments, the door to the courtyard opened, and the Knight-Commander entered.

   
Meredith Stannard was a woman in her early forties who was in superb physical condition. Still beautiful, with pale blonde hair and ice blue eyes, she had been devastatingly so in her youth. Not that it mattered to her. The Knight-Commander had been totally dedicated to the Templars since she joined the Order and cared for nothing else. She rose from the ranks to become the highest-ranking member of the Kirkwall Unit. She ruled her Templars with an iron fist that had grown heavier with each passing year. She’d also become more and more reclusive over time and rarely left the Gallows any longer.

  
There were those among her men who believed that she was losing her mind. Some of those men were now dead, having been a part of the plot to kidnap Carver. But there were others within the ranks who doubted the Knight-Commander’s ability to lead any longer. The Knight-Commander was well aware of the growing disaffection among her ranks but was beyond caring about anything except rooting out the corruption of the mages in the Kirkwall Circle.

  
She walked slowly around Angharad, studying her for a long time before speaking.  When she did speak, it was with the voice of one used to being obeyed. “My Knight-Captain tells me that you entered this City as the Ferelden King’s envoy and said nothing to him about being a mage. He also informs me that you were caught in the company of blood mages tonight; you were caught with the very blood mages who murdered Ser Thrask and other Templars sent to take them into custody. Is that true?”

  
Angharad said nothing. So that was the story Meredith had constructed in her mind.

  
Meredith grabbed her chin roughly and lifted her head. “Well, mage, is that true?”

  
Angharad whispered, “Can’t talk. Need water.” 

  
Meredith raised an eyebrow. “Templar, how long has it been since this mage was given food and water?”

  
“I do not know, Knight-Commander. I have not fed nor watered this mage.”

  
“Then bring her some water,” Knight-Commander Meredith told him.

  
“Messer, yes messer.” The man ran to fetch water.

  
When he returned with the water, Angharad drank deep taking in almost a cupful before removing the vessel from her mouth. She handed the jug back to the Templar. To Meredith, she said, “What was your question?”

  
“Were you involved with the blood mages who killed Ser Thrask and his men?” Knight-Commander Meredith said.

  
“I was there to help free Grey Warden Carver. Nothing more, Messer,” Angharad explained. “The young Warden is in my husband’s command.”

  
Meredith stared coldly at Angharad. “You expect me to believe that you are not involved in the conspiracy to undermine my authority? That you are not involved in the conspiracy to foment rebellion among the Kirkwall mages? Do you expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with the escape of more than fifty mages a few days ago?”

  
“I was on the Wounded Coast this night to free young Warden Carver. Nothing more. And as to your authority, Messer, you need no help in destroy that. You have managed to damage that on your own.”

  
Meredith ignored this remark. “And the fifty mages?”

   
“I have nothing to say about that either, Messer.” Angharad told her.

  
Meredith turned away. “You are lying, mage, as all your kind lie.”  She looked to the doorway where a man now stood. “Come in, Ser Edrik.” Meredith said.

  
Ser Edrik came to stand beside the Knight-Commander. Angharad did her best not to be frightened, but she could not repress a small shudder. He smiled.   
“Is this the woman who lied to you about being a mage?” Meredith asked him.

  
“She is, Messer. She is the one.” Ser Edrik replied.

  
Angharad looked him straight in the eye. “I did not lie. You did not ask me if I was a mage.” Then with studied slowness Angharad looked away from him. “I did not lie.” She repeated.

  
“You did lie. You said you did not know where Anders was. But you were in his company when you were arrested.”

  
“That was another day, sirrah. I told you the truth. I told you I did not know when Anders would return to duty in the clinic in Darktown. And I did not know.”

  
“Enough!” Meredith interjected, growing tired of the useless talk. “Take her for questioning. I want to know what she knows about the escape of the mages.”

  
“How far do you want me to go to get answers, Messer?” Ser Edrik asked his Commander.

   
“Don’t kill her,” Meredith said and walked out of the room.

  
Ser Edrik turned to face Angharad; and, with a measured amount of force, backhanded her with his armored glove. Angharad hit the floor conscious and in agonizing pain. He grabbed her shackles and began to drag her out of the courtyard. Angharad was about to discover that Rendon Howe's bastard son knew more about inflicting pain than his father did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains actual dialogue from the game. I have tried to the best of my ability to use Italics for those strands of dialogue. And I hope to go back in earlier chapters and do the same. I felt it would be wrong not to quote the characters' actual words in those scenes. Bioware gets the credit.


	20. The Prisoner, Rywik’s Templar, and the Grey Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad goes with Hawke to rescue Carver and is captured by the Templars and is given to Edrik for questioning. Ander's tale comes to its end, Learninig of Angharad's capture, Nathaniel and Carver race back to Kirkwall to attempt a rescue as the agreement with Asha' bellanar comes to its conclusion.

Chapter Twenty  
The Prisoner, Rywik’s Templar, and the Grey Warden

  
Nathaniel came in to the outpost with his unit. It was late afternoon though the clouds made it seem like twilight. Cold, hungry, and wet, they were given little chance to rest. Larius had not made himself known to the wardens at the outpost, and so Stroud sent Nathaniel and his unit out to try and pick up Larius’s trail. The problems began when it began to rain and then pour. Soon rivers of water were flowing, wiping out whatever tracks remained to be found. After days of searching in the rain and muck, they ran out of supplies and had to return to base.

  
They had just come through the gate and were headed for the main hall, when one of the junior wardens came running up to Nathaniel. “Squad Captain! Commander needs to see you now. Says it’s urgent!”

  
A cold feeling swept through Nathaniel’s gut. He ran for the Commander’s office. Not waiting for protocol, he blew through the front office to the Commander’s office to find Carver sitting there. “What?” Nathaniel said.

  
“The Templars took Angharad. She’s in the Gallows,” Carver said simply.

  
Nathaniel looked to his Commander. Stroud just said, “Go. Take Carver. Go.”

  
Nathaniel was out the door before he finished the sentence. He ran through the great hall, grabbing bread, grabbing cheese. Carver already had his things on his back and was ready to go. He followed Nathaniel through the hall and back out into the raining night. Nathaniel went through the gate at a dead run, eating as he ran. He ran as long as he could before he was forced to slow down and walk. Without talking, Carver passed his bota of water to Nathaniel so that he could drink.

   
They walked for some time before Carver finally spoke. “Captain? Captain, you need to rest.”

  
“I know, Carver, but not yet. I cannot stop. I am not exhausted enough yet.”

  
“I don’t understand, Captain.” 

  
“I keep seeing her, I keep imagining what…what they are doing to her. I won’t be able to shut it off yet. There is no sense in stopping unless I can sleep.”

  
“Ayah, Captain. We’ll keep going then.” 

  
The continued to walk for another hour before Nathaniel began looking for a secure place to bed down.  By then, he was stumbling, fatigued and wet to the bone. When they found one a place beneath a rock shelf that was secure and relatively dry, Carver merely said, “I’ll take first watch.” 

  
Nathaniel leaned back against the rocks and was asleep in less than a minute. Carver kept watch until he was too sleepy to remain awake. He woke Nathaniel and fell asleep himself. Nathaniel woke him at dawn, and they headed out once more. 

  
The rains had made the trails hard to traverse adding hours to their journey to Kirkwall. Carver and Nathaniel agreed to go to Hawke’s house first, for Miri may already have a plan in place to free Angharad from the Gallows. They reached Hawke’s house late in the afternoon.

   
Bodahn let them in, saying, “The Mistress got a letter from the First Enchanter asking that she come to the Gallows.  She left some time ago, messers. You are welcome to wait until the mistress returns. Can I get you anything? Anything at all?”

  
Carver sighed. “Food, drink, please. I am starving.” He said to Bodahn, who hurried to the kitchen. 

  
“I need to go to the Gallows,” Nathaniel began.

  
“Captain, I will go with you. I just need some food,” Carver said. “As do you.”

  
Nathaniel waited long enough for Bodahn to being out platters of meat and cheese. An odd thought came to him, and he turned to Bodahn. “Are my wife’s things still here?” He asked the dwarf.

  
“Yes messer, your wife’s things are upstairs.”

   
Nathaniel went upstairs to the room he had shared with Angharad and found her personal things. He tucked one of her chemises into his rucksack, and spied her trinket box. Her wedding ring was tucked safely inside, no doubt so that she wouldn’t lose it while shapeshifting.  Nathaniel found a chain in her trinket box and put her ring on the chain and then around his neck. He was not certain why, but did it anyway. By the time he came back down the stairs, Carver had eaten and was ready to leave. “We must go. I have to find her.” Nathaniel told Carver. The two of them set out for the Gallows.

  
The Prisoner

  
Why is it so cold? I am so cold! Angharad felt around her with her hands. Slowly, it came back to her. She lay naked on a stone floor. Methodically, she moved each limb and found the bones that were broken. Fingers. This time it was her fingers. Angharad used what little energy she had left to heal her own fractures. There was nothing left for the lacerations, the bruises, the sprained joint, the bite marks. Angharad painfully rolled onto her side and got up on her hands and knees. She searched in vain for water but found a bottle of ale half emptied. She drank it down. Never had ale tasted so good.

  
Angharad had expected to be beaten; she had even expected to be raped. These were common themes inflicted on mages, male and female, in the Gallows. The physical pain was somewhat easy to defend against. Rywik had trained her to disconnect all but a little of herself from physical torture. He taught her to leave only enough of herself to keep her body alive so that the pain remained far away. 

  
What Angharad was unable to defend against was the Templar training that allowed them to drain her mana. This kept her from being able to completely heal her injuries, and it weakened the psychological barrier she placed between herself and Ser Edrik when he touched her. For Angharad, the pain of his assaults on her came not in the physical intimacy that he brutally forced on her, but in the unwanted emotional and psychological intimacy that she was unable to hold at bay. Angharad could not use blood magic to spell cast as this would have earned her instant execution, and song spelling at this point would have given her away as the Prophet of Kirkwall. She was caught in a web of her own weaving. Her ability to deflect his thoughts and emotions was deteriorated and there was nothing she could do to rebuild it.

  
The rage, hatred, and disdain that washed over her when he touched her were bad enough, but the true pain came from the feelings of loss, and fear, and loneliness that lay underneath his rage, fueling everything else. It was as if a small child were trapped inside the raging Templar, a small child who sought comfort and could not find it, a small child screaming in the night for relief that would never come. It was these screams she heard whenever he touched her. By the third day, her inborn need to find that broken place and heal it overwhelmed her and she began to cry. 

  
At first Ser Edrik had laughed, until he heard her say, “I’m sorry I cannot heal it for you.  It is too deep; it is too old, and I cannot reach that place. I have not the strength. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. It is not your fault. I forgive you. Please forgive me; I cannot heal your wound.”

  
“What do you mean, witch?” Ser Edrik asked her.

  
“To be left as a baby. To be abandoned as an infant on the steps of the Chantry. To never know who your mother or father were. To suffer the torment of uncaring nursemaids and unfeeling caregivers. To be—“

  
“Shut up.  Shut up! Shut up!!” He screamed at her, hitting her again and again until she fainted.

  
It was very late when she regained consciousness. Angharad managed to pull herself up from the floor and onto the cot. That simple act took all her strength, and she fell unconscious once more.

   
“Wake up, aderyn hardd, wake up!”

  
Angharad stirred to the sound of a familiar voice. The room, ever cold to her naked and depleted body grew colder still. “Rywik?”

  
“You must get up, beloved. You must be my aderyn hardd, my beautiful bird, or better, a rat if you are to survive.”

  
“You cannot be Rywik for he is dead and gone forever. You are my imagination. You are a demon come to tempt me,” Angharad began to cry.

  
“No demon, no delusion, beautiful one. I am he.”

   
Angharad felt a wave of his energy pass over and through her; She knew it to truly be Rywik or at least a part of him, a part of him that was somehow with her. She felt his spirit energy as though it was truly his body beside her. “Rywik! It is you.” 

  
“It is, my sweet girl. I cannot stay long, and I cannot heal you, The Eluvian could only bring me so close, physically. The rest of the way is possible because of our connection. I’ve only the ability to send this spirit body. There’s no mana left for the healing.”

  
Angharad opened her eyes, and swollen though they were, she could see Rywik, or rather his form, his energy. Gone was the cynicism, the anger, and pain. His handsome face was filled with joy and gladness. Angharad tried to bring her hand to brush his hair from his face, but her fingers passed through him.

   
“You should have told me, that you loved me, Rywik. I wouldn’t have hated you so much.”

  
He smiled his old wicked grin. “You needed to hate me beautiful bird. It gave you strength. Use that strength now, and do what you must to get out of this hell hole of a room. I love you, aderyn hardd, always. Remember how mighty a tiny creature can be.”

  
She felt him withdraw, the warmth that had enfolded her was gone. But she was stronger now. Rywik had given her courage. Angharad gauged the hours and realized that Ser Henry had not made his usual rounds this day. It had been long enough that her mana was rising. Somehow, she had to get out of this room before he returned. It was difficult to think; she was still very thirsty and weak, but somehow, she must find a way to escape. She struggled to stand up on the cot to see if there were some way to leave the cell, but she was so weak that she lost her balance and fell to the floor. She landed, hard, face down on the stones, but from this vantage, Angharad noticed something.

  
The gap between the door and the floor was almost a foot in size. Not enough for a human to escape, but more than enough for a bird or a rat. No wonder Rywik spoke of his beautiful bird. No wonder he mentioned the might of a tiny creature. Oh please, blessed Mother, let me have enough strength to be a rat. Angharad prayed.

Taking deep breaths to suffuse her body with oxygen she drew her mana forth and transformed into a rat. Flattening herself against the ground, she crawled underneath the door. Her heavy mass, compressed into so tiny a shape made this almost impossible, but somehow, she managed to drag herself forward millimeter by millimeter until she was in the hallway and free.

  
She had no more energy to hold the shape and reverted to herself once more. Angharad used her hands to pull herself up the wall so that she could lean against it and try to walk toward the light she saw at the end of the passageway. The light seemed so far away but she had to reach it, she simply had to reach the light.  
Rywik’s Templar

  
Knight-Captain Cullen had just come off duty. He’d gone to his quarters to disarm and was heading toward the mess hall when he saw Angharad stumbling, naked, down the passageway in his direction. At first, it was impossible to tell the color of her skin, for there were bruises on bruises against her flesh, some of them finger marks, some of them bite wounds. Her face was swollen, her eyes blackened, but Cullen knew who it was.

   
“How could I have…Mistress Howe, I should have known…” He cursed himself briefly for being naïve enough to think that Angharad’s rights would have been respected. In the last months, the abuses of the mages had moved from being the dirty secret of the Order to an open wound. Cullen had protested more than once to Meredith, had demanded punishment for those who inflicted the torments on their charges, but she no longer allowed him to reign in the knights responsible. It was if she’d begun to believe that beatings and rape were a part of the work. It was yet another thing that kept Cullen up at night questioning his role in it all and whether or not he still served the Maker or some darker force.

  
 “Oh Maker! Mistress Howe, I have failed you. Please forgive me.” Cullen looked about quickly for something with which to cover her. He ripped one of the banners down from the wall and wrapped it around Angharad. He tried to help her walk, but when she began to collapse, he lifted her in his arms and carried her back down the hall and out into the open courtyard from which he’d just come. Cullen was going to put Angharad in his quarters until he could find her friends, but as he made his way across the courtyard, there was a loud cracking sound, followed by a deep rumble. The ground shook, almost knocking Cullen off his feet. He and Angharad both whipped their heads around to look in the direction of the roaring noise.

  
Across the harbor, they saw the Chantry’s stones rise in a column of red energy, spin higher and higher, and then shoot outward at great velocity raining down over the city, The sound and vibration of the final destruction nearly knocked them both to the ground. A cloud of dust rose, but the Chantry was gone. “Oh blessed Maker, what has happened?” Cullen wondered aloud.

  
“Anders has happened, Knight-Captain. He has murdered the Grand Cleric and destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry. It is as I saw long ago, years ago.”

  
Only then did Cullen remember that he held a naked, wounded woman in his arms. “Mistress Howe, I,” Cullen didn’t finish. He simply carried her to his room and placed her on the bed.

  
“Water. Water, please. I need water,” Angharad begged.

   
Cullen found his flagon of water, sat beside her and helped her to drink. “Mistress Howe, I would stay with you, and see to your safety, but the Chantry—” Cullen stopped. He still could not fathom that the Chantry was now a pile of rubble. “I must gather the men, find the Knight-Commander. There will be blood in the streets after this.”

   
Cullen found his field rations and gave them to Angharad. “I have no idea how long it will take to sort this out. This is food.”  He rose and struggled into his armor as he spoke. “You should be safe from harm here. No one will seek to enter my room.”

  
“Nathaniel. Tell Nathaniel.” Angharad said. Suddenly, Angharad sat straight up and screamed a high, piercing sound like the death cry of some terrible creature.

  
“MAKER! WHAT IS IT?” Cullen said, flinching at the terrible sound of her cry.

  
“She executed him. The Champion executed him,” Angharad said, her breath coming in great gasps.  “Anders is dead. He is free. But spirit of Vengeance is loose.”

Angharad looked at Cullen and in a voice not her own, said, “The time of your decision is coming, Templar. Will you stand with the righteous or with the evildoer?” Then she fell back against the bed, unconscious once more.

  
“Maker save us!” Cullen said, covering Angharad with a blanket. He went to gather his troops; and, within moments, the Templars were crossing the harbor in search of their Knight Commander.

  
The Promise

  
Nathaniel and Carver had just turned the corner above the market in Hightown and had started down the steps, when a gigantic noise and a huge blast rang through the city, throwing them both down the stairs. Looking upward into the night sky, they saw debris flying higher and higher into the night. They both had the same thought at the same time and scrambled up a different flight of stairs so that they could shelter under the stone overhang of the building as the stones and gravel began raining down. Pieces of the Chantry fell from the sky, silent except for the whistle and thud as they crashed into the stone courtyard of the market. Screams sounded in the distance as both men stayed well back and prayed that nothing too large impacted the building under which they sheltered. Watching as many of the market stalls in the Hightown courtyard were demolished as the debris fell, one particularly large piece took out half the balcony.  Finally, no more blocks of stone crashed down. As the silence reigned, they started down the stairs amid the cloud of stone dust that still floated in the night air.

  
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found a number of dead Templars, a couple of dead mages, and Anders, who was dead as well. Nathaniel examined his body and found a single knife wound to his back at the level of his heart. Carver and Nathaniel looked at one another. 

  
“It looks as though someone executed him. I think we can guess who is responsible for the explosion we witnessed. They both were silent for another moment, and then Nathaniel said, “Follow the trail of dead Templars. You’ll no doubt find your sister. I’m for the Gallows. I’m running out of time.” 

  
“Ayah, Captain. Maker turn his gaze on you.” Carver said over his shoulder as he began to search for Miri.

  
“And you,” Nathaniel called as he began running for the Lowtown steps that led to the docks.

   
The city was in chaos. People had built impromptu barricades and had set fires to block passage through the streets. There was fighting everywhere, some of it between Templars and mages, some between looters and people defending their property, some between anyone living and shades. Ten times worse than Qunari uprising, the violence and blood tore the veil between the world and the Fade and demons poured through. Nathaniel saw many parties of Wraiths, Demons, Abominations, Mages, Templars, and rioting Elves as he journeyed through the streets toward the docks, moving from shadow to shadow, staying hidden. It took some time, but it was better than being forced to engage a group superior in numbers.

   
Nathaniel finally reached the stairs leading down to the Docks. As he made his way toward the water, he came upon a large number of Templars disembarking from their boats. Among them, Nathaniel recognized the Knight Captain. He threw down a bomb that exploded sending an obscuring powder into the air. In a swift movement, he came up behind the man and ripped Cullen’s helm from his head with one hand and put a knife to his throat with the other before any of the Templars could react.

   
“Where is my wife?” He demanded of Cullen, as he pulled him over to a stone wall so that no one could get behind them. Cullen gave a hold sign to his men and said calmly. “Mistress Howe is in the Gallows. I moved her to my quarters—” He felt the knife press a little more deeply into his skin “—not what you are thinking, Warden. I took her there for safety.”

   
“Where are your quarters?” Nathaniel demanded.

  
“My quarters are through the gate near the potion seller’s stall. Once you are through the gate use the right-side stairs. It is the first door on the right,” Cullen replied.   
“Is she still alive?” Nathaniel asked, watching the other Templars.

  
“She was when we left, though she was in a bad way.” 

  
Nathaniel lowered his voice. “You’d better damn well pray that she still lives when I find her.”

  
Nathaniel threw down another obscuring bomb and vanished. A couple of the Templars started to chase him, but Cullen yelled, “Hold. He is no threat to us. We must find the Knight- Commander,” as he ran up the stairs toward the sounds of the battle.

  
Nathaniel searched the docks, found a one-man dinghy and paddled furiously to cross the harbor toward the Gallows As he found the opposite shore, Nathaniel beached the dinghy away from the dock and made his way on foot to the main stairs of the Gallows. As he approached, he could hear the sound of steel on steel.   
Nathaniel dropped into stealth and moved to the shadows of the buildings so that he could scout the area unopposed. A small unit of Templars had engaged the mages on the steps to the Gallows. Despite the mages' superior strength and their spells, the Templars were gaining ground by first draining the mage’s mana and then taking them down with their swords and daggers. At that point, the mage was helpless for none of them appeared to have any martial training, unlike the mages of the Grey Wardens who were expected to learn alternate forms of combat. Clearly, they needed help.

  
Nathaniel drew his longbow and began firing fire arrows at the Templars. Nathaniel was patient and found openings in the Templars’ armor. His first shot caught one Templar in the neck. He stealthed to another position and shot another in the back of the knee where the greaves were strapped. The arrow pierced completely through the joint, taking the Templar down to the ground. Nathaniel watched, satisfied, as one of the mages followed up his attack with a spell that cause the wounded Templar to blow apart from the inside out. Firing once more, Nathaniel pierced the leather portion of another Templar’s armor just above the breastplate.   
About to nock the fourth arrow, he spotted Ser Edrik backstabbing a mage. Nathaniel stealthed to a hidden position, sheathed his bow and drew out his poisoned blades.

   
“Ser Edrik!” Nathaniel shouted, dropping out of stealth and jogging toward the Templar. “Come and face me, you stinking coward!” 

  
Ser Edrik turned to the sound of Nathaniel’s voice. He saw who it was and smiled. “Ah, the cuckolded husband appears at last! Your little wife is very tasty, Warden. But then, I knew she would be!”

  
Ser Edrik wore the partial plate armor of a dual wielder. Nathaniel, in light leathers, had the advantage of maneuverability but the disadvantage of limited access to the Templar’s body. There were areas of access on the arms where the uniform sported only leather for mobility, and the templar’s skirt hid the fact that the greaves covered only the front portions of the Templar’s legs. Nathaniel drew his blades and crashed into the Templar using the edges to slice the back of Ser Edrik’s legs and knock him off his feet. Nathaniel managed to draw blood, but Ser Edrik was able to recover his balance. He turned to face his new attacker and grinned at Nathaniel.  
“But then, perhaps that’s just because I am more of a man.” Ser Edrik taunted, as he circled.

  
As the rage began to rise in Nathaniel’s middle, he thought, Careful! He wants you angry! He wants you to lose focus! Stay cold, stay cold and concentrate! Nathaniel watched as Ser Edrik moved right, but did a quick flick to the left with his eyes. Nathaniel backflipped out of the way and met his opponent with a blade coming in low and underneath the hip skirt. Nathaniel felt the blade find and enter flesh. It was his turn to grin, then as Ser Edrik grunted with pain. Nathaniel used the pommel of his dagger to pound hard on Ser Edrik’s helm as he pirouetted away from the Templar’s counter-attack.

   
Nathaniel was fast enough to avoid Ser Edrik’s main blade, but not fast enough for the off-hand weapon. He felt a burning sensation across his back and knew that he was not the only one using poison. But then he felt the wash of a heal spell pass over him and knew that one of the mages had noticed his injury and had helped him.   
“She’s not as pretty as she used to be, but then, who is when well used?” Ser Edrik added, though now he was beginning to show the effects of the poison that Nathaniel had used on his blades. Nathaniel could hear it in his breathing, and Ser Edrik’s eyes were dilating.  Don’t listen, he told himself. Don’t let him distract you! Nathaniel exploded a chameleon’s breath, the fine reflective powder obscuring his movement. He dropped into a shadow and moved away from Ser Edrik. Nathaniel nocked an arrow with a paralyzing poison on its tip and waited until he had a clear shot. Then he let it fly, an arrow of slaying straight into the man’s chest. Ser Edrik moved to the right in time for the arrow to miss his heart, but it did penetrate his cuirass deeply enough to hit the lung. Nathaniel sheathed his bow once more and moved in for the kill. 

  
Ser Edrik began to wobble and sank to his knees. Nathaniel executed a swift kick to the Templar’s right shoulder and caused his blade to go flying. Nathaniel went and picked it up. He sheathed his own blade and walked toward the Templar. Nathaniel kicked again and sent Ser Edrik onto his back. Stretched out on the ground there was now a gap between the Templar’s Cuirass and his hip skirt. Nathaniel gritted his teeth and slowly inserted the Templar’s blade into his stomach before executing a swift J stroke that opened his belly. Then he held the blade up for the man to see. 

  
“Do you see, you bastard? It is your blade, Templar. I just wanted you to know that I am a man of my word.”  Nathaniel watched Ser Edrik’s life slowly ebb away, but it wasn’t enough. Nathaniel kicked the Templar’s body. All the rage he felt came to the fore. He kicked him again and again. “Demons take you, you son of a bitch!” Nathaniel kicked the Templar’s head once more, but there was no response. The man was dead.

  
When he looked up, he saw that he was surrounded by mages who had watched the fight between himself and the Templar. The rest of the Templar unit was dead. Nathaniel looked out the main gate and saw that more boats were on their way across the dark harbor. It wasn’t over; it was just beginning. Looking at them all, he asked. “Can you tell me where the Knight-Captain’s room is?”

  
One of the female mages came forward, spit on Ser Edrik’s corpse, and said, “I’ll show you.”

  
The Prisoner

  
Nathaniel pushed open the door to Knight-Captain Cullen’s room. The light from the hallway roused Angharad from her semi-conscious state. “Leave me alone, Ser Edrik. She told you not to kill me.” Angharad said.

  
“She didn’t tell me not to kill him!” came the reply.

   
“Nathaniel!” Angharad said, trying to roll over to see him.

  
Nathaniel steeled himself not to react to her injuries. It was difficult, for Angharad had been expertly beaten, but he managed to keep his voice level and calm. He sat beside her and asked. “Do you think you can rise, Angharad?”

   
“No. too injured. I have no mana with which to heal. They’ve kept me depleted to enhance their torture.”

  
“Come, I’ll carry you then. Perhaps one of the mages can heal you.”

   
Nathaniel started to lift Angharad but she cried out in agony and her breathing began to hitch. “No, Angharad,” he begged, “Stay with me, stay with me.” Nathaniel took her hands in his.

  
When his left hand met hers and the runes on their palms touched, power began to flow out of him, like blood from a wound. He could feel his energy fading and experienced that curious sensation of reality shrinking away. He’d only felt that twice before, the last when he faced the dragons and almost died. With his right hand, searched for her wrist and felt for her pulse. It was growing stronger and steady. Nathaniel clasped her hand all the more tightly, willing to give every last bit of his life energy to her even unto death. Angharad tried to remove her hand from his, but she was still too weak. 

  
“No,” she whispered.

  
“When you can take your hand from mine—”

  
She tried once more and failed. Focusing on Nathaniel’s face, she could see his life energy draining.

With a burst of will, she jerked her hand from his. “You’ve given enough, Nate. I am no longer in danger.” Slowly, Angharad sat up. Even more slowly she got to her feet and began to look for something she could wear. Nathaniel pulled her chemise from his rucksack and handed it to her without a word.

   
“Thank you, my husband,” Angharad managed to say as he helped her slip the chemise over her head. “Let us find out way out of here, Nate. I’ve had enough of Circle life.”

  
Nathaniel removed her ring from the chain around his neck. He held it out and Angharad gave him her hand. Nathaniel slipped the ring on her finger once more and kissed her. “I love you, anwylaf. Come, let us go.”

  
They walked toward the sounds coming from the main courtyard. Along the way, Angharad looted the Templar corpses for a good knife and sheath, and she found a decent staff in the hands of a dead mage. Armed, she followed Nathaniel out into the great courtyard of the Gallows where they walked into the middle of a confrontation between Miri Hawke, and Knight-Commander Meredith.

  
_“Kill the Champion, Knight-Captain,”_ Meredith was shouting.

  
_“Knight-Commander. I thought we intended to arrest the Champion. I defended you when_ Thrask _started whispering you were mad, but this goes too far!”_  Knight-Captain Cullen retorted.

  
_“I will not allow insubordination. We must stay true to our past.”_ Meredith insisted angrily as she drew a sword made of a strange red metal which gave off waves of power that felt like lyrium. _“All of you, I want her dead!”_

  
_“Enough! This is not what the Order stands for!”_ Cullen exclaimed. _“Knight-Commander, step down! I relieve you of your command!”_

  
_"My own knight-captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic. You all have! You're all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me! But I don't need any of you! I will protect this city myself!_ " Meredith shouted harshly. 

  
Cullen drew his sword and shield and stood in front of Hawke. _“You’ll have to go through me!”_ He told her.

  
_“Idiot boy! Just like all the others!”_ Meredith told him. Suddenly, Meredith took her sword and stabbed it into the stone of the courtyard. _"Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter!"_

  
Red lines of power snaked out from the point of impact and suddenly the gigantic bronze statutes in the courtyard began to come alive and step down from their perches on high. At the same time, Meredith attacked Miri, who summoned her Mabari Hound and used her magic to distort gravity around her making it hard for others to reach her.

  
Without speaking, Nathaniel ran for a high place from which to use his bow, and Angharad surveyed the battle scene. Most of the Templars were standing down, unwilling to back Meredith, but also unwilling to engage in open mutiny. Some were attacking Miri’s party. Others, however, were fighting with Cullen against the statues and the Knight-Commander. Miri appeared to have the health of her companions well in hand, so Angharad saw to Nathaniel as well as those Templars who were actively fighting against Meredith. 

  
The battle in the Gallows Courtyard was surreal, growing more so each time that Meredith struck her sword into the stones. With every strike, more nonliving statutes came to life and attacked Miri and her party. Glowing red, the material from which the sword had been forged gave the woman superhuman strength, but each time she employed it to enliven more statutes or spring high into the air, less and less of Meredith seemed to remain. It was as if the sword consumed her as she employed its power. Despite the giant statutes, the insane ramblings of Meredith and her suddenly superhuman strength, she was only one warrior. Slowly, Miri, Fenris, and the others overwhelmed her and drove her back against the stone steps of the mage prison.

  
As Meredith began to raise her sword again, Angharad started to sing an enchantment to the staff of the fallen mage that she held in her hand. The lyrium in the staff began to glow, but before she could use it, Meredith attempted to use the sword once more, and the red light folded in on her, driving the power into Meredith’s body rather than out toward the fighters. She screamed in agony as the power of her sword consumed the last of her soul and she withered from real flesh into some twisted shell, a once living person now a statute with an agonized expression.

  
There was a sudden silence in the courtyard as everyone stopped and watched her consummation. One of the young Templar recruits approached what was left of the Knight-Commander and reached out to touch, but she stopped, afraid to come in contact with whatever Meredith’s body had become.

  
Miri and her group looked at the Templars. Cullen and his men and women returned the stare. Each group held still for a long moment. And then, Cullen stepped back and lowered his sword as did his people. In silence, Hawke and the others turned and walked out of the Gallows and to the harbor. Nathaniel appeared by Angharad’s side and they walked out as well.

  
It was over.

  
It was the beginning.

   
At first, there was only the need to escape Kirkwall. Nathaniel and Angharad fought with Miri and her group as they made their way back to her Hightown mansion to get supplies and funds. Miri asked Bodahn to take Orana with him and Sandal as they made their way to Orlais. It was agreed, and the three of them left. Nathaniel, Carver, and Angharad gathered her things in preparation for a return to the Warden Outpost, but before departing, Bodahn gave Nathaniel written orders signed and sealed by Stroud, directing the three of them to Ferelden and to the Vigil.

  
Miri and Fenris remained long enough to say goodbye. “Take care, my brother,” Miri told Carver. “I love you, you know.”

  
Carver embraced Hawke. “Be well. Have children, Miri, for I can no longer. Someone must carry on after us.” Carver turned to Fenris and simply said, “Be her strong right arm.”

  
Fenris nodded. “Always.”

  
Miri embraced both Angharad and Nathaniel. “Be well. Send word to the Hanged Man. I am certain that somehow I shall hear of it if you do.”

  
“Maker turn his gaze on you Hawke. Ferelden is always open to you. Alistair would welcome both of you, you know,” Angharad replied. Then, slowly, she held out her hand to Fenris. After the barest of hesitations, he took it. “Be well,” Angharad begged of him.

  
“And you, Mistress Howe,” Fenris told her.

  
Angharad, Nathaniel, and Carver took up their things and left the mansion. It was too dangerous to attempt an evacuation from Kirkwall’s harbor, so they hiked up the Wounded Coast to a fishing village. For a goodly price, they purchased their way across the sea to Amaranthine in a fisherman’s boat.

  
Nathaniel and Angharad spoke little as they made their escape from Kirkwall. There was much to say, but it needed time and space for the telling. It was not until they were crossing the Waking Sea that they had a chance to be alone.

  
Nathaniel was seated in the bow of the boat, his back against the prow. As Angharad approached him, he took her hand and gently pulled her down to sit cradled in his arms.  Nathaniel put his face to her neck and kissed her there, feeling her warm skin beneath his lips. He felt her tremor at his touch but gently soothed her by dragging his hand softly over her cheek. “Tell me, anwylaf, what you need to say so that we may go forward with our lives.” 

  
 But Angharad began to cry. Nathaniel did not try to stop the tears. He let her finish, waiting patiently until she was calmer. “Tell me,” He repeated.

  
Angharad told him. She told him as much as she could remember. It was hard telling and harder hearing but it had to be done. Both of them knew that. When she finished, they both sat silent for a moment. Angharad started to say something, but it was Nathaniel who spoke first. 

  
“Can you forgive me, Angharad, for not coming soon enough?” He asked her quietly.

  
Of all the things, Angharad anticipated Nathaniel saying this was not it. It had not occurred to her that Nathaniel would blame himself. 

  
“There’s nothing to forgive, Nathaniel. You came for me. It is all that matters.”

   
“You are certain that Rywik came to you?  It was not your imagination?”

  
“I felt his spirit as I feel yours, Nathaniel. There was no mistake. Somehow, he was there, if only for a moment.”

  
“Then I thank the Maker that he came, for it is certain that he saved your life, Angharad. It pains me to admit it, but he loves you truly. And, I think that you love him too, a little. How else could he reach you except through love?”

  
“Of course, I love him. But what belongs to you can never be his. Just as what belongs to him can never be yours. Love is not finite, Nathaniel. The Maker gives us an infinite measure of love. But he is not the one I chose. You are the one I chose. But as to the other…the…the violation…can you forgive me?”   
“Forgive you? My love, you are blameless.”

  
“I chose to go into danger.”

  
“As I choose to go into danger. I swear to you, wife, there is no shame or blame in what you suffered. It was his doing. There is nothing to forgive, Angharad, nothing to forgive.”

  
“But what about—’’

  
Nathaniel pulled her tight against his chest. “Do you not remember, anam cara? Long hair or short, it does not matter. Scar on your cheek or no, it does not matter. I love you. The rest of it does not matter.” His hand drifted down to her belly. “And if, as I suspect, there is a child in your body, I shall love him or her as well.”  
Angharad turned in his arms so that she could see his face. “But Nathaniel. I am not even certain yet myself. Why are you so sure?”

  
Nathaniel smiled brightly. “A life for a life? We thought only of dying, but could it not also be creating? If you are with child, we shall raise him or her with love. Perhaps that is the price the witch expects us to pay.”

 Angharad rose to her knees and took his face in her hands.  “Ah, Nathaniel, I do not know. I only know that you are a strange and wonderful man, my heart, and that we are going home at last.”  
 

_Epilogue_

  
_And who is the weaver? Is it all of us together weaving our own small portion into the fabric of Time? Or does Someone sit at the loom, creating the pattern of reality?  I do not know. During the time of my pregnancy, my Sight was gone from me, the future clouded by the overwhelming events of a coming child. My daughter, Lilla, was born nine moons after the Chantry was destroyed. Nathaniel took her from the midwife’s arms, kissed her forehead, and placed her in mine. From that moment to this day, she was his. We had almost three years of peace, Nathaniel as the second-in-command of the Vigil, and I as the castle’s healer. It was a time of joy and contentment._

  
_We often went to Delilah’s holding in the Arldom, Nathaniel, our daughter and I, not just for our sake but for hers. Indeed, I would often go_ alone _with our daughter. I had no clear vision or reason for doing this, only a feeling that Lilla needed to know and love her aunt. Delilah, for her_ part _was thrilled. Her son was fostered with the Teryn, and while he was happy with his service to Cousland, he was not often at liberty to come home. Delilah lavished her attention and affection on Lilla whenever we were there, and Lilla basked in that affection. My daughter looked so much like her aunt that there was no doubt that she was a Howe, even if she wasn’t Nathaniel’s child._

  
_Three years, we had three beautiful years, and then it ended. It ended with a vision. Lilla was running in my herb garden, chasing butterflies, when I saw it. I saw it all. A montage of horror, all mixed together in scene after scene of mayhem and murder, I saw the slaughter of the mundane wardens, their blood fueling a demon army for enthralled mages, I saw Nathaniel, dead, his blood drained, all of them sacrificed for Larius transformed into Corypheus, the monster instigating it all. I saw another holy place explode, and demons pouring from the sky and then death and ruin and despair. Behind it all, behind the monster, a shadow hiding a face, a man I could not see, only a wolf with six eyes. As I stared at the wolf, it growled and lunged!_

  
_I found myself on the ground, shaking, wanting to scream._

  
_“Mama,” Lilla came near, stroked my hair. “Where did the doggie go?”_

  
_“What doggie, Lilla?”_

  
_“The one with the funny eyes, Mama. He looked at me.”_

  
_My heart turned over in my chest and my blood ran cold. My girl looked like her aunt, but my magic was in her bones._

  
_I told Nathaniel of my vision and of Lilla’s vision. “Andraste’s holy flame, I did not expect—”_

  
_“Neither did I. She looks so much like your side of the family, and she is only three.”_

  
_Our conversation was abruptly ended by a knock at the door of our private quarters. Before we could rise, the door opened, and Rywick stepped inside. The three of us looked at one another_ a _long moment. Before I could speak, Rywick said, “You saw? The rise of the Dread Wolf? The destruction of Andraste’s Temple at Haven?”_

  
_“I saw a wolf with six eyes, but the Dread Wolf? Are you certain?”_

  
_“Quite!”_

  
_“And Nathaniel’s death?”_

  
_“Yes.”_

  
Rywick _turned aside for a moment. He hid his face, but_ I _Nathaniel will be sacrificed to fuel Corypheus’s coup.”_

  
_Nathaniel looked_ to _me. He saw the terror in my eyes “This is what you and Lilla saw?”_

  
_“Yes.” We stared at one another, Nathaniel, disbelieving, and I, terrified._

  
_We turned at the same time to the sound of Rywick’s voice. “You don’t have to die. The future can be changed. I know this from…well, from bitter experience. The three of you must come with me, you must come west, help me search for a cure to the taint that we carry,” Rywick explained._

  
_“Not Lilla,” I said. “She is too young.”_

  
_“She must, she is a mage. You know what is coming. She won’t be safe.”_

  
_I shook my head once more. “She will be safer with Delilah than with us. We will contact Teyrn Cousland, and the King, ask them to take her under their protection, find her a mentor for her gift. She must stay.” I began to cry then._

  
_“No. I cannot abandon my post. I will remain behind and see to our daughter,” Nathaniel declared._

  
Rywick _smiled. “You are so predictable, Nathaniel. Duty and honor above all.”_

  
_My husband started to protest, but Rywick waved him off. “You won’t be abandoning your post. I spoke with the Warden-Commander and requested you for this expedition. My reputation and friendship with the King give me a measure of power to get my way. You have the sanction of your superior.” He turned to me. “As for Lilla, if you are certain that you want to leave her behind, Alistair will take her under the Crown’s protection. I see an invitation to Delilah and her niece in their future. That would be best. We may be gone a very long time.”_

  
_My heart broke at the thought, but I knew, knew in my very bones that she would be safer with her aunt than with her parents. “We must take her to Delilah. Delilah loves her and will, will….Can you send a messenger to the King and the Teryn?”_

_“This very_ night. _”_ Rywick _assured me._

  
_I started to cry._

  
_Both men looked uncomfortable. I shook my head at the two of them, brave and fearless on the battlefield, but helpless in the face of a woman’s tears._  
 _“My heart is breaking, but I know she must stay and we must leave. I shall go and_ ready _our things.”_

  
_Nathaniel came into the room a moment later. “Must we leave her behind?’_

  
_I turned and saw the pain in his eyes. His life was in danger, but the thought of leaving our daughter behind was tearing him apart. I took his face in my hands. “I know. I do, I know the pain you are feeling, but Nate, if we take her with us…” I couldn’t finish. I_ tuned _away to hide my tears._

  
_“You’ve seen something?”_

  
_“No, no, thank the Maker, but I know it. I know it like I know that the sun will rise tomorrow. She is destined to stay with your sister, a ward of the King, to be Ferelden. Delilah will keep her safe, and we cannot promise that.”_

  
_“Then I will remain and you go—”_

  
_I faced him again, grabbed hold of his arms with my hands. “No. Nathaniel, they will come upon you unaware, they will bind you, slit your throat and use your blood to bind a demon to_ a bound _mage. Please, please my heart, don’t do that to me. Do not fuel their evil out of a desire to be good. Yes, our daughter is about to lose her parents, but if we stay, she will lose us forever. Our actions brought her into this world, but we were never destined to keep her. At least this way we can write, send messages, get news.”_

  
_Nathaniel pulled away and left the room without another word. I let him go, knowing he needed time to come to terms with what he knew in his heart must happen._   
_I came back into the main room of our quarters. Leaning against the small window frame gazing out into the yard. “Your Nathaniel is a good man. He loves her as his own, does he not?”_

  
_“He does.”_

  
Rywick _smiled at me then. “I have a son. Morrigan and I have a son.”_

  
_“Ah, Rywick, that is…it’s wonderful!”_

  
_“It is, it was. We had those years of quiet, but both of us had to return. Both of us have…responsibilities.”_

  
_“You love her?”_

  
_“I’ve grown to love her,” he admitted. With a sly grin, he asked, “Jealous?”_

  
_He made me laugh. “Yes, a little. But in truth, I am happy for you. It hurt my heart to know….”_

  
_“Any wounds have long since healed, Angharad. You don’t have to carry a burden that wasn’t yours to carry_ to _begin with.”_ Rywick _came closer. “You realize, this journey may be one way. I don’t see the way back at all, but I know this is the only chance.”_

  
_“I can’t see it either, but staying here means death for him.”_

  
_“Yes. Will Nathaniel agree?”_

  
_“He has agreed. He’s just coming to terms with it.”_

  
Rywick _laughed at that. “I’ll find a bunk in the barracks. We leave in the morning”_

  
_I saw him to the_ door, _and then went to Nathaniel where I_ new _he would be, watching Lilla sleep. “We leave in the morning. First to Delilah and then West.”_  
 _“Ayah.” Nathaniel gently touched Lilla’s cheek._

  
_“Come, husband. You and I need to rest. I love you, Nathaniel.”_

  
_“And I, you. Always.”_

  
_And so, it was that we started down the road that took our daughter to her aunt, and then to the West. As we left the gate of Delilah’s holding, I looked back at my daughter in her arms. Lilla was waving goodbye, too young to understand that she would not see us again, perhaps forever._

  
_A life for a life. I did not understand what Flemeth sought to gain. I played the part of the goddess in Kirkwall, saving a few lives in the process. I freed some mages from the Gallows, adding fuel to the final confrontation. I brought a Howe into the world who is also a mage, and to what end? I cannot see her pattern for it is too vast. I can only go forward down the path that is chosen, weaving the possible future into an immutable present. Whatever befalls us, I take comfort in knowing that in the end, the three of us are together, and that must be enough._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some actual lines of dialogue taken from the game. They are italicized. Hopefully, I've marked them all.


End file.
